No Mercy For He
by All The Good Names Taken
Summary: After a vicious fight, Kurt leaves the morning after with a bruise. Blaine is left alone, wondering what they do now. Will they forgive each other for everything said and done? Angst. Strong emotional/adult themes. AU. Future!Fic.
1. You're Killing Me

Blaine Anderson, 25, is in the apartment he just finished furnishing with some money left to him by his grandfather, three blocks up from Prospect Park, Brooklyn. It consists of a lounge, kitchen, bedroom with en-suite and another room known as "the studio". He is studying law and performing arts at NYU. It's twenty past eleven in the morning. His boyfriend of six years has just left him.

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><p><strong>No Mercy For He<strong>

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><p><em>You left a blood-stain, on the floor.<br>_You set your sights on him.  
><em>You left a hand-print, on the door.<br>_Like all the boys before, like all the boys before...

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><p>The sound rang out in the pristine kitchen. The tiles were cold and stained red; crimson streaked across the floor in clumsy, porcelain pools. The angry words hung in the air, buried deep into his flesh like bullets shot across the granite-topped battlefield. The white cupboards, smooth and plastic, shone with fake warmth as the light buzzed above them. Blaine was breathing heavily, each breath sick with the weight of what had happened and landing on the floor in a heap. Kurt hadn't moved. He was still standing on the other side of the kitchen, his knuckles clutching whitely to the counter-top, his eyes flashing with a stunned green and dangerous grey.<p>

Blaine turned, wanting to look anywhere but the man before him. He was fuming, raging, and all he had wanted was to storm and scream and shout until Kurt could take no more from him. But Kurt had been different tonight. He was tired, drained. He was not the imperturbable, proud force that Blaine sought out when he needed a fight, or took refuge in when he needed shelter. The man holding onto the kitchen counter tightly, almost as though he would drown in the tiles below if he let go, was not the man Blaine had expected to come home to.

Kurt's whole form was shaking. Blaine could see him out of the corner of his eye, but no sound came from him. Nothing filled the air of the kitchen but Blaine's breathing and the echo of the broken plate, scattering pasta and tomato on the floor. Blaine closed his eyes and willed his heart to stop beating the way it was, wished with all his might that the past anger would return and help fuel him again. He wished to feel something other than the inescapable desperation now pouring into him.

Blaine opened his eyes as he heard the china _clink _together, scraping the floor coarsely. He looked down and saw Kurt on his knees, picking up the pieces of the plate one-by-one. Kurt's slender fingers picked up the mess delicately, his alabaster palms holding the red-splashed pieces in a stark contrast that made Blaine's breath catch in his throat.

Kurt's cheek was still peppered pink from the force of the slap.

Blaine watched as Kurt rose from the floor gracefully. The knees of his grey jeans were stained, and there was speck of sauce on his loose, white jumper. Blaine remembered buying him that jumper from Abercrombie and Fitch months ago, unable to leave it when his mind had wandered to how it would show off Kurt's shoulders. Even now, despite the bitterness and fury rising like thunder between them, Blaine still caught himself observing the way Kurt's skin moved across his collar bone, highlighted by the jumper's low neck.

Blaine's heavy winter coat suddenly seemed too constricting and the desire to remove it and throw it almost consumed Blaine as rapidly as his fury at Kurt had, but he resisted. He wouldn't do anything to scare Kurt any more than he already had, and so he stood in the kitchen feeling stuffy and awkward, watching the way Kurt's knuckles quaked together. He felt dirty. Tainted; an angry, petty man in a rain stenched coat, standing in a kitchen with someone who had spent months working to have it at the level of grandeur and design it was now.

The remainders of the plate crashed into the bin. Kurt turned from the corner of the kitchen and approached the sink. Light streaked across Kurt's promise ring, the water from the tap running down through his fingers like glistening sand. The silence was becoming almost suffocating and Blaine found himself no longer able to restrain himself.

'I'm so s-'

'Stop. Just- stop.'

Kurt's words silenced Blaine immediately. There was something undeniably low in his voice, a new emotion Blaine had never heard the man he loved express before. But it was there, strong and present, holding all the cracked syllables together. Blaine swallowed, almost choking on the words he had resting on his tongue.

Kurt turned off the tap and leaned onto the counter. Slowly, dully, noise began to fill the kitchen again. The bustle of New York's roads softly pressed against the window pane and the sink spluttered as the last of the water drained away. The Brooklyn lights blinked from the window before Kurt, casting shadows across his face, his eyes closed, mouth tight. Blaine watched as Kurt's hands seemed to quiver beneath his weight, his head down and his eyelashes fluttering as though he were dreaming. Blaine was not sure how long they had been like that, silent and swelling, but each moment dragged for what felt like years, ageing Kurt in the passing of nothing. Suddenly, Kurt spoke, his fingers clenched onto the edge of the counter, his eyes tightly shut.

'I am not cheating on you,' Kurt whispered, slowly and heavily. Blaine felt his heart pull painfully in his chest. His hand was still stinging from the force of the strike. 'Jasper is just a guy from my class who needed help with a deadline. That's all. God, Blaine- I can't believe you... I can't believe you just-'

Kurt's face contorted as though in pain, as though Blaine had done it again. Blaine felt his stomach churn, every inch of him disgusted by what had happened. How angry he had gotten, how jealous he had been. The repulsion and fear that had consumed him at the thought of someone else being with Kurt like he was; of Kurt loving someone else. The memory was vivid and horrible in Blaine's mind; the furious words thrown like stones, the accusation, the way he had grabbed Kurt, knocking the plate from his hand, the sound of it crashing to the floor, the venom in Kurt's voice right before he-

Blaine felt the bile rise and gagged suddenly, lunging forward to lean on the kitchen's island, his stomach roiling viciously. Kurt moved quickly at the sudden movement from Blaine, and Blaine felt every ounce of his being begin to bite. Kurt was _scared _of him. Scared of him; Blaine, the man Kurt loved, the man Kurt had known for six years, the man Kurt wore his ring for, the man who could never, _ever _hurt him...

'Kurt, I can't even- _I am so sorry,_' Blaine sobbed dryly; the tears wouldn't fall. They merely swirled in the corner of his eyes like gathering storm clouds.

He looked up to meet Kurt's gaze, which flickered briefly away from Blaine, glancing at the kitchen door, (which was flung open before the fight), before returning fearfully to Blaine's once more. Tears leaked silently from Kurt's glasz eyes, blinking in the kitchen's light in two glossy lines. But his jaw was set, his breathing even. Blaine felt a surge of affection for the man stoically standing before him, mixing sourly in his stomach with the guilt. Kurt was so brave. So brave.

'I know,' Kurt breathed, letting go of his tether of the counter. He stepped cautiously around the island, his socks making no sound on the tiled floor. Blaine kept his gaze, terrified that if he looked away Kurt would vanish. Run out the door and slip away into the New York streets.

Suddenly, unable to restrain himself, Blaine moved quickly over to Kurt, his arms encasing his slender form and pulling him flush against Blaine's heaving chest. Blaine felt Kurt stiffen beneath him, arms frozen just above his coats heavy shoulders, but Blaine could not pull himself away. He rested his forehead against Kurt's and watched as Kurt's eyes fluttered shut. Blaine mimicked him, red darkness swerving before him.

'Kurt,' Blaine moaned, and Kurt made a strange movement against him. 'Kurt, Kurt, Kurt...' Blaine repeated his name like a prayer, letting it fall as easily and beautifully as it had the thousands, millions of other times he had said it. 'I am so sorry. I would _never, _ever hurt you. I couldn't- I'm so sorry, Kurt. Kurt.'

For not nearly long enough, they remained that way. Entwined and shaking as Kurt's fear seeped out from him in quivering sobs and Blaine's disgust in himself leaving his hands trembling on Kurt's waist. But all too soon, Kurt was pushing himself away from Blaine. His left cheek was still flaming and Blaine finally felt something run down his own face, hot and fast.

'I'm- I'm going to bed, Blaine. I'm tired,' Kurt sighed dejectedly, his glass hands strong against Blaine's chest as he pushed himself away. He seemed unable to look Blaine in the face. 'Forget about dinner, and the mess, I'll clean it up tomorrow. Just... I think you should stay on the couch tonight.'

Blaine nodded silently, at loss of what to say. His eyes fell down from Kurt's face, trailing along Kurt's body and finally scanning across the kitchen floor, landing on the splatter of the dinner Kurt had made a mere two hours before. Kurt raised a hand to his cheek, touching it tenderly before walking softly out the door and probably disappearing into their bedroom.

A door closed with a _snap_, it's lock clicking into place down the hall, leaving Blaine alone in the kitchen, the hum of New York buzzing in his ears. Blaine didn't mean to do it. He would never have wanted to do it. But he did. He had hit him. Blaine had hit Kurt.

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><p><em>This is our luck, baby, running out.<br>_His clothes were never off.  
><em>We still have hours to run about.<br>_To get us back on track.

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><p>Blaine awoke a few hours later. Pushing himself off the couch, he felt groggy and cramped from collapsing in his clothes. It was bright outside, the lounge illuminated palely in the morning sun as it ghosted through the chiffon voiles of the window. Sitting up from the crumpled cushions and shedding his wrinkled coat, Blaine unbuttoned and tossed his shirt aside onto the floor. The chalk-coloured walls suddenly seemed cold in the new light, the grey suite looking dark and ominous in their carefully selected places. Like tanks waiting for the signal to charge. Blaine leaned forward, holding his face in his hands. The memory of last night lingered in his mind like a bruise, sore and tender.<p>

The lock clicked open from down the hall, and suddenly Blaine felt far more awake. He stood up from the couch, casting a nervous shadow in the curtained sun across the couch. He saw Kurt step out of their bedroom, dressed impeccably, hair styled, as though nothing had happened last night. As though there had been no fight. But the air was cold with the hauntings of what Blaine had done. The sound of him hitting Kurt resonated between them, creating miles. Kurt turned silently to look at Blaine. He stepped into the hall fully, closing the door behind him. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Blaine simply watched Kurt, studied the way his eyes-lashes curled, the way his wrists were slightly bent. But then his eyes fell to Kurt's feet, and the bag.

All the air vanished from the apartment and Blaine found himself suddenly feeling faint.

Kurt walked timidly down the hall into the lounge, his eyes only flickering to the kitchen door once. He walked around the couch with a slight girth, before sitting down on the shining, black coffee table, his eyes dancing in strange colours before Blaine. Blaine looked down at him for a few moments, before retreating back down to the couch's welcoming cushion, level with Kurt.

'Blaine,' Kurt said softly, his fingers knotting together on his clasped knees. They looked too white against the black denim and deep burgundy of his cardigan. (Blaine wished he had worn something else. He didn't think he'd ever want to see the colour red again). Blaine watched as Kurt fiddled with his promise ring, the silver glowing in the dim light. Kurt breathed out shakily and looked down at his hands.

'_Kurt,' _Blaine whispered, an echo of desperation beneath the name. The shadow of a wince cast across Kurt's face, but in a moment it was gone. Blaine reached out, trailing his fingertips as lightly as possible across Kurt's purpling cheek. 'Oh, God, Kurt. Look at you. I'm so...'

But the words wouldn't come. Kurt closed his eyes and gave a nod in response jerkily, the edges of his lashes suddenly weighted with moisture. Blaine swallowed thickly, the presence of the packed bag in the hallway suddenly crushing down on him. He withdrew his hand.

'Are you leaving?'

'Yes,' Kurt replied immediately, his voice breathy. He still didn't look Blaine in the eyes. 'But not for long, just- just until I get a chance to... to clear my head a bit. It'll only be for a while.'

'A while?' Blaine repeated, the words spoken so softly, but breaking Blaine like bricks through glass. Guilt poisoned him. He knew he had no right to sit there, begging silently for Kurt to stay after what happened. But the thought of what would happen once Kurt shut the door behind him was almost too much to bear. Blaine clenched his fists on the couch's edge, the fabric scratching.

'Only for now, Blaine,' Kurt answered, the words constricted. Blaine thought fearfully of what Kurt was holding back, what he wasn't saying. 'As for the kitchen, I cleaned it up last night. I couldn't sleep and-'

'How long?' Blaine found himself asking, interrupting his boyfriend. Kurt's fingers stilled on his ring.

'I'm- I'm not sure,' he stammered, eyes opening and looking somewhere to Blaine's left.

'Where are you going?'

'I don't know.'

'Would you tell me if you did?'

'I don't know.' Blaine's stomach flipped uncomfortably. There was a glutinous feeling of dread curdling his blood, making him stiff and sickly. Blaine wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Kurt. Pull him close, tightly against him. Feel his warmth, breath him in. But Blaine knew better. There was a reason Kurt was sitting here now, a reason for that God-damn bag in the hallway. He nodded slowly, his grip tightening on the cushion to stop himself from drawing Kurt to him.

'This will be good. For both of us. You've been under a lot of stress lately, and I need some time for myself.' Blaine barely registered what Kurt was saying. All he could think was how foolish he had been. This couldn't be happening. Kurt couldn't be saying these things. Kurt _wouldn't _say these things if-

Suddenly, something ugly and hideously familiar burst into being within Blaine's chest. It squeezed his heart tightly in it's unforgiving tendrils, injecting a venom Blaine recognised too well.

'Are you going to _him?' _He had said it so quietly he almost thought Kurt hadn't heard him. But he had, and Blaine watched as Kurt's whole body crumbled shiveringly. His own ears were suddenly filled with a ringing as Blaine realised too late that he just fired the fatal shot of the postponed fight of last night.

'I can't believe this. After last night, after _all you did...' _Kurt whimpered furiously, more to himself than Blaine it seemed. Blaine reached out, but Kurt withdrew sharply. His bottom lip trembled and Blaine watched as the blue in Kurt's eyes turned a sour green. 'No, Blaine. There is no "him", just _you. Despite everything. _Only you- you _idiot_.'

Kurt rose from the table in one fluid movement. Blaine was caught off-guard by his departure and was frozen a few moments, staring at where Kurt had been. Blaine distantly heard Kurt's bag scraping against the floor as he picked it up down the hall, Kurt's converse squeaking on the laminate-wood. The sound of the front door clicking open brought Blaine tumbling back to earth. Kurt was leaving him.

_Kurt was leaving him._

Blaine launched himself off the couch, running straight down the hall and out the door. It slammed violently against the wall, but Blaine didn't care. Kurt was standing in front of the elevator, his arms crossed and that fucking bag hanging loosely over his shoulder. He turned to look as Blaine bolted towards him. Kurt opened his mouth as though to cry out, but Blaine already had his arms around him, encircling his waist and tying knots behind his willowy back. Blaine buried his face into Kurt's shoulder, barely aware of how the cotton of Kurt's sweater itched on his bare chest.

'Don't do this,' Blaine begged, the words falling from his mouth and staining Kurt's cardigan. 'Don't do this. Please, _please, _don't.' Kurt's hands rose to meet Blaine's shoulder, feeling icy cold against his flaming skin.

'Blaine, please- Ms. Wall is coming out of her apartment,' Kurt murmured frantically, his fragile fingers pressing into Blaine as the sound of a door opening drifted up the corridor.

'I don't care!' Blaine all but shouted. Kurt started beneath him, but Blaine refused to let go. He could feel Kurt's back arching in his attempts to escape, sinewy and beautiful. Blaine's heart twisted and he gritted his teeth into designer cotton.

'Blaine,' Kurt whispered softly, a sorrow soaking in the word like it were a sponge. He took Blaine's face in his porcelain hands, pulling him up gently to look into his eyes. Blaine watched the way Kurts lips shook pinkly, the way his cheeks paled. The way something in his eyes screamed "goodbye" though he didn't utter a word.

Then, slowly, meticulously, Kurt pulled away from him; water draining from sand on a shore. His fingers left a ghosted chill on Blaine's face. Blaine could feel his eyes sting as the elevator door creaked and scraped open. It sounded out of a tune with the murmured "not for long" and "I'll call soon". Kurt stepped back, his head tilting down the way it always did when he was lying.

'I have to go.'

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><p><strong>An idea that would not leave me alone. Any mistakes are my own. Constructive criticism is always wanted. <strong>


	2. Your Words All Over Me

**Thank you all so much for the wonderful response! I've never received so many alerts for one chapter before. This chapter was originally much longer, but the second half didn't seem to fit. So I cut it and it will be used in the third chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I hope this doesn't disappoint despite it's lenght.**

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><p><em>I've seen you in a fight-<br>_You lost.  
><em>I see you in a fight.<em>

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><p>Two weeks later, the punch landed hard and was so very, very painful. Blaine stumbled backwards into the hall of the apartment as Finns tremendous form pushed in the doorway. The bitter tang of blood bit at his tongue, and Blaine raised a tentative hand to his jaw. He looked up at Finn, who's face was blazing. His brown eyes burning like wood on a fire. Blaine had never seen Finn look such a way before and an unpleasant pall cooled the blood in his veins frighteningly quick.<p>

'You _bastard_,' Finn growled, reaching down and grabbing Blaine, thrusting him against the wall in one staggering motion. Blaine hit the wall with a dull _thud, _sliding to floor, surrendered. He would not fight Finn. He had nothing to fight for_-_ nothing to defend.

'Did you see what you _did _to his face?' Finn shouted, unable to strike again and settling for punching the opposite wall with a force that seemed to shake the whole flat. Blaine didn't move from the floor, the sickening guilt and regret of what he had done weighing him down like an anchor to the carpet.

'You bastard, you fucking bastard,' Finn groused waspishly, his back to Blaine. His whole body seemed to be shaking with rage and Blaine found himself feeling ready to cry.

Not from fear, Blaine wasn't scared. No, definitely not scared. He was just ruined. It was as though some invisible hand had grabbed his heart and twisted it to the point where it stretched at the seams. Blaine could almost feel each one snapping as Finn continued to storm. It was terrible, worse than Blaine could ever have thought to sit and listen to Finn speak about Kurt that way. Like Blaine was some disgusting criminal and what had happened had been an act of pure malice, Kurt an unsuspecting victim. He felt the familiar sting of bile in his throat.

Something else stung, too. A bitter resentment. After all, it wasn't like Kurt was completely _innocent_ in all this.

It seemed like forever before Blaine realised Finn had stopped raging, the silence in the space between them big and horrible. Blaine looked at Finn and noticed the man before him was staring down the hall, into the open lounge. At the back of the couch, where a blanket was strewn over it carelessly. Blaine saw Finns brow crease, his fists stiffen beneath the hem of his denim jacket.

'Who's staying on your couch?' he asked, each syllable dripping acid.

'Me,' Blaine croaked. His voice seemed to abandon him. Lost in the sea of so many other things. 'I couldn't... I just can't sleep in our bed anymore. Not without him. Not after what h-happened.'

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Blaine curled his knees into his chest and began to sob. Finn appeared to be taken aback by Blaine's sudden weakness. But Blaine didn't care. He didn't care if Finn screamed and yelled all night at him. Punched him until blood spilled. Nothing could take it back. Blaine found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them, making circles in the carpet with their weight;

'I was stupid- _insane. _I thought he was sleeping with someone else, I thought...' Blaine choked into his flannel pants. 'I was just so angry. So hurt. I couldn't believe myself, wouldn't believe him. We were fighting and he said- God, I don't even know.' Finn still said nothing from above him and Blaine couldn't bring himself to look up. 'I just couldn't lose him, Finn. I was so fucking scared, but now- now I just, just don't know'

Finn fell silent and nothing filled the air between them but Blaine's crying. The guilt and grief that had plagued Blaine suddenly raked through him with a threatening amount of strength. He couldn't bring himself to care what Finn was doing, what he was thinking. All that mattered was that Kurt was gone. And after two weeks of adamant silence, Blaine began to lose the faint hope he had had that Kurt would come back.

'He misses you.'

Finn had spoken so quietly that Blaine almost missed what he said. In jerky breaths, Blaine looked up to see that Finn was still not looking at him. But he had looked away from the couch and was now watching the floor with quivering eyelids. He groaned in a frustrated way and Blaine thought Finn was going to hit him again, but instead he just collapsed back against the opposite wall, facing Blaine.

'Don't know why. Told him he'd be better off hitting you back,' Finn spat. 'But he said he couldn't. Said you weren't yourself. But you weren't drunk, were you? You weren't high or anything!' Blaine shuddered against the wall, and for a brief moment, he wished Finn would hit him again. 'You're a bastard, Anderson.'

Blaine registered the renewed use of his surname and he could feel himself nodding in reply. They were silent for a very long time, and a few neighbours peered curiously in the abandoned front door, but Finn seemed to give them a look that encouraged they move on. Only after Ms. Wall stopped and opened her mouth to ask something, did Finn snap at her savagely before slamming the door shut. Blaine winced. The noise brought the memory Kurt leaving back with a vengeance.

'I d-didn't mean to,' Blaine stammered. Finn seemed to inhale anger at the statement.

'_You didn't mean to?' _he repeated viciously. Blaine looked away, more tears threatening to spill. 'What? It was some sort of freak accident or something?'

'It wasn't like that,' Blaine murmured weakly but Finn had regained his stride.

'You- I don't even know what to call you!' Finn yelled from above. 'What? You think it's different because it's two dudes? _No! _You don't hit the people you love, Anderson! Ever-!'

'I KNOW THAT!'

Blaine wasn't sure where the anger inside him came from, but it was sudden and completely consuming. The tears had stopped. In one push, he was off the floor and facing Finn. Finn pressed himself off the wall in response, a far more impressive act seeing as Finn was a good foot taller than Blaine. But Blaine didn't care. All the frustration and heartache he had been feeling was suddenly hot and boiling inside him.

_'It just happened!'_ Blaine roared, his voice filling the apartment like water. 'We were fighting, screaming! He said some things- horrible things! I thought he was seeing someone, I thought he was screwing around!' Finn's eyes widened and his fists tightened, but Blaine couldn't stop. His twisted the words, imitating Kurt's mocking tone; 'I told him I wouldn't be surprised, that he had always _loved _a bit of attention. Then he shouted, screamed, I grabbed his arm... He said...' Blaine suddenly faltered, the pain of what had happened overwhelming him and cutting his words short.

'What?'

Blaine shuddered, the truth and venom in Kurt's words still feeling as cold and awful as they had then. 'He said he would've though. He would've slept with him if he had known it would hurt me. Just so he'd be able to walk away knowing he'd had the last win.'

Blaine took a stammering breath. Finn was still silent. 'We'd had rows before this. Fighting over his late nights with this Jasper guy, over the constant texts and stupid excuses to spend time together that Kurt always fell for. He never believed me. But he said he'd rather fuck this random stranger and win a fight with me, than stay and lose. And I just... I just snapped. '

It seemed like years before Finn spoke again, and when he did, the words were laced with an almost doubt that brought Blaine back to the hesitant seventeen year old, suggesting Queen songs for competitions long since lost; 'Kurt would never say a thing like that. Ever. He loves you. He'd never-'

'I'd never hit him,' Blaine interrupted coldly, the words tasting like blood. His jaw still ached and his bottom lip throbbed. 'But he did say those things. And I did hit him.'

Finn made an odd movement forward, but seemed to decide against at the last minute. Blaine was vividly reminded of the way Kurt's fingers trembled, the way he stepped so carefully the night before he left. He started to cry again, unable to contain it any longer, his sudden fury still pumping and swirling like burning oil on sorrowed water.

'I've lost him, Finn,' Blaine said quietly. He turned away from Finn and kicked the wall hard, ignoring the pain and pressing himself against it, the cool grey Kurt had picked all those months seeming even colder than it had two weeks ago. Blaine gave a bitter laugh. 'Huh, who'd have thought it? Years of Kurt bitching about girls and other guys at bars, and it turns out _I'm _the jealous guy. You were right, Finn. I am a bastard.'

'Stop it,' Finn said, a new emotion lurking in his words, eyes closing in a familiar way Blaine almost forgot. But Blaine shook his head, a strained smile still stretched across his face.

'No, it's true. Everything you said, every last thing was true and we both know it,' Blaine said scathingly. 'Why not give me another go round? Maybe I can get a bruise to match Kurts-'

The punch was sudden and unbelievably painful. Blaine saw lights dance in front his eyes and his stomach turned over violently at the force of the strike. Crumbling to the floor, he looked up to see Finn breathing heavily, his eyes glossed.

'Don't you dare say something like that,' he snarled down at Blaine, his whole form shaking. 'Whatever's going on between you two is screwed up. But if you ever lay a hand on my brother again, _I will kill you_.'

As Finn left, the door banging off the wall once more, Blaine watched the place where he had been feeling strangely empty. He thought that if Finn had hit him again, made him feel as humiliated and scared as Kurt must've felt, he'd feel better. Like some sort of reprieve. But instead he felt nothing but a sickening grief that made his heart sting and a headache that pounded in time to his bloodied jaw.

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><p><em>We're under the sheets and you're killing me.<br>_In our house made of paper, you words all over me.  
><em>We're under the sheets and you're killing me.<em>

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><p><strong>God, I love writing Finn. He's brilliant.<strong>


	3. Today You Saw Me, You Explained

**I really, really hope this doesn't disappoint anyone. Everyone has been so very kind to review so frequently, and I have so many alerts. I hope I don't let you guys down with this chapter. It was written a little quickly, so any mistakes are my own. I'll correct later if required. **

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><p><em>Left a message-<br>_But it ain't a bit of use.  
><em>Today you saw, you saw me-<br>_And you explained.

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><p>It was raining. It pounded against the glass of the window, street-lights flashing against the wall in streaks of white. Blaine watched the movement scurry across the paintwork, his chest heavy with a thick, cold weight. He hadn't left their building for 21 days, only leaving their apartment to collect the pizza he was living off. It always tasted stale, and he was still sickened at the sight of tomato. But he couldn't bring himself to use the kitchen. The couch was starting to get lumpy- he was sure that the sofa cushions would never spring back after being slept on so often- (he was also sure there was a layer of dust on their bed that Kurt would kill him for). But Blaine found himself unable to break free of his depression, unable to break the habit of doing nothing. Of living nothing.<p>

Instead, he found himself staring at the phone. His mind rolling around in circles.

The phone had only rung three times since Kurt left, all three Blaine left go to messages. The first was the day after Kurt had gone. Blaine's supervisor from NYU, confirming his claim of "sick leave". The second was a week. A rather polite and almost alien call from Burt;  
><em>'… Hey, Kurt. Haven't heard from you in a while, bud. Just checking to see if you're still coming down next week. Carole's thinking of that chicken, (orange?), thing you like. Give me a call soon as you can, Kurt. Best to Blaine.'<em>

Kurt's father had sounded like an old song that Blaine had forgotten the lyrics to. His call made Blaine think of what he had forgotten. The song he was singing when he first met Kurt, the colour of the wallpaper in Kurt's old bedroom. Burt's voice was full of motor oil and the smell of caesar salad and Blaine had briefly thought of the empty bed that had been waiting for them in Ohio. Is that where Kurt had gone? Blaine had traced the number of Kurt's home over and over after Burt's call, never dialling. Finally, Blaine had pressed delete and prepared for bed amongst crinkled cushions.

He had cried himself to sleep that night.

The third time the phone rang, it had been Kurt. On the thirteenth day, Blaine had just come out of the shower to see the light on the answering machine flicker dimly down the hall. The pale walls illuminated a ghostly red by the small bulb. Blaine had walked over and felt his heart pull as he smelled the carnations Kurt had left in the vase next to the phone a mere two weeks before. He had pressed the _play _button with a damp finger and Kurt's voice, reserved and stuttered, filled the room;

'_Blaine? It's me. I don't know if you're out, or just ignoring your calls. But I just wanted you to know that I'm not going to be home for another while yet. I have some stuff I need to work out and- God, this is so insane. Blaine, no matter what happens, I just need you to know that- that... Look, I'm really busy lately. I need you to stop calling me. We'll talk soon, I promise. Bye.'_

Blaine had grabbed the phone so fast he nearly broke it. He then punched the familiar number into their ridiculously overpriced antique phone. But the moment he breathed Kurt's name down the receiver, Kurt had mumbled a hastened apology and excuse before hanging up. Blaine had stood there for nearly half an hour, the phone clutched to his chest, tears falling. Before then, he had called Kurt eight times only to be cut-off or left to voicemail. After Kurt's message, Blaine had turned off his mobile and left it abandoned on the bedroom dresser. Their expensive phone had been silent since.

Pushing himself up from the couch, Blaine rubbed a hand over his face, stubble coarse beneath his fingertips and curls soft. He felt groggy and his jaw still throbbed dully when he put pressure on it. (Finn's contorted face flickered in his mind like a fresh bruise, too). Blaine walked over to the phone, it's polished ivory shimmering in the rainy light. He stared at it for a long time, the minutes passing in sheets of water past the window. He had thought about it ever since Kurt vanished into the New York streets. Wondered constantly; a sick curiosity that wouldn't leave him alone.

Still not entirely decided if it was the right thing to do or not, Blaine reached out and picked up the phone and retyped the number slowly from a crumpled piece of paper, retrieved from one of Kurt's pockets. A dull bleeping was interrupted by the strange voice;

_'Hello?'_

'Hey, is this Jasper?' Blaine asked, trying to keep the hiss out of his voice. Something ugly and fierce roared deep inside, breaking through the ice within him. He heard the thunder crack like wood outside.

_'Yep, that's me. Who is this?'_

'It's Blaine. Blaine Anderson.'

_'Anderson... Anderson? Sorry, I know this seems really bad, but I'm totally drawing a blank. Who are you again, Blaine?'_ He sounded almost mocking. Teasing. Blaine hated that. Jasper sounded so blasé, so disgustingly clueless.

_'_Blaine_;_ Kurt's boyfriend_,' _Blaine growled into the receiver. Jasper was silent on the other side of the phone for a long time. Blaine stood and waited, listening to the rain move against their apartment in waves.

'_Oh, right. Well- uh, what can I do for you?' _

'I'd like to get a coffee, there's something I want to talk to you about.'

_'Okay. Well, I'm not sure if now's a good-'_

'There's this small café down by Prospect Park, called "Tribes". Deep green colour, wood panels- you won't miss it. I'll be there in an hour, I'll see you then,' Blaine said, cutting off Jasper. He didn't want to hear the ass-hole wheedle his way out of this. He was going to talk to this Jasper and find out what he needed to know. He could hear Jasper stuttering on the other end, but Blaine hung up, slamming the phone a little harder than he needed to.

Blaine just breathed deeply for a few minutes before leaving for the bathroom to shave. Spending the better part of his promised hour gelling his hair into place, (a habit Kurt still complained about), and picking a suitably imposing black sweater and dark jeans, Blaine grabbed an umbrella from the stand and left his apartment for the first time in a near month. It felt almost foreign, to lock the door from the outside, but Blaine ignored the way his neighbours peered out of their peep-holes.

The rain was pouring heavily, splattering on the concrete steps of the exit from his apartment block's foyer. The trees were near bare, their leaves burnt a shining umber and Blaine watched the them twitch in a cold wind. Opening his umbrella, Blaine stepped out from under the shelter and into the autumn storm. His mind was swirling with thoughts of Kurt. Where was he? Barely registering where he was walking, Blaine was outside Tribes within minutes, the aroma of coffee dulled by the heavy rain. Manoeuvring himself inside, Blaine left his umbrella by the door and chose a booth next to the window. A waitress came over, her bottle-blonde hair seeming taught and dry in the full, coffee-scented air of the café.

'Are you ready to order?' she asked in a kind tone, her dark eyes trailing across Blaine's shoulders before meeting his gaze.

'A large medium drip, please,' Blaine answered automatically, turning from his waitress and watching the world outside for signs of Jasper.

It seemed like an eternity before a man in a heavy raincoat entered the café, throwing his head around in search. Blaine leant back in his booth, his half-drunk coffee forgotten. The man caught his eye and Blaine felt a stab of pleasure when noticed the way the dripping man's shoulders sagged. Shedding his sopping coat on the hooks by the door, he ambled his way through the tables and chairs to Blaine's booth.

Blaine had only seen Jasper a handful at times, only ever when he went to meet Kurt for lunch. He was a little taller than he recalled, and slimmer. He had olive skin, similar to Blaine's but containing an almost weedy-look about him that gave him an unhealthy tone. His shimmery brown hair was cut short and a little tight. His green eyes shifted around the café, avoiding Blaine's gaze. The waitress returned.

'Anything I can get you?'

'Oh, no,' Jasper stammered, his smile easy and full of teeth. 'I'm not staying for long, just catching up with someone.'

'No problem,' the waitress smiled. Blaine felt the urge to kick Jasper. Quite the smooth talker. He would be, wouldn't he?

Jasper turned back to look at Blaine. His dark eyes shifted greenly and he folded his hands on the table, fingers knotting together. Blaine rested his hands on his lap. Perfect posture, an old habit of a Dalton has-been. The window was warped from the rain and it cast a strange light across Jasper's face, making him seem paler and almost meek. Something heavy swelled between them, but Blaine found it hard to truly identify. There was something in the way Jasper held himself- tense, sprung- that made Blaine uneasy. But he also noticed the way Jasper's hands were shimmering. He was nervous.

'So, Blaine. Sorry I didn't recognise you earlier, we only had the chance to chat that one time with Kurt and...' Blaine was sure it was his expression that made Jasper falter. The man stopped talking, his hands twitching nervously. Blaine let his lips curl into what he hoped was a very cold smile.

'Charming as you like to think you are, I'm not going to pretend you don't know why you're here. Because you do,' Blaine said matter-of-factly. His tone was even, and Blaine was surprised at his level of control. Jasper swallowed thickly from across the table. Blaine watched his shoulders tighten. 'I'm going to ask you some questions, and I expect you to answer me honestly. Understand?'

Jasper nodded silently, but his eyes darted to the window. He seemed unable to meet Blaine's eyes and his fingers continued to entwine, and untwist themselves. Blaine found this lack of attention quite frustrating, but he couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. It had been haunting inside him for so long. And after what had happened- it finally burned out leaving a dull, icy pain deep within him. The thought of it chilled him ever time he walked through the bedroom to use the shower in the en-suite, everytime he caught one of Kurt's scarves on the back of the chair. He had know. It was time to know.

'Did you sleep with Kurt?' The question was low and very, very dangerous. The temperature between them dropped and Blaine could hear nothing of the _clinking _and _clattering _of the café around him, only the sound his own heart pounding in his chest. The uneasy tensing of Jasper's shoulders seemed to twitch, almost as though he was going to move before thinking against it. But it had happened so quickly, Blaine almost thought he imagined it.

As Blaine's words landed on the table between them, Jasper's mouth dropped open, his hands stopping like traffic. 'What? I don't understand what you...'

The thunder broke again and lightening bolted, splitting the world in two.

'Let me rephrase then,' Blaine snarled, leaning forward slightly. Jasper shifted awkwardly. 'Did you _fuck_ my boyfriend?' Blaine raised his voice and a few of the other customers turned around in interest. Jasper's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing aimlessly.

'No. No, no I didn't. I wouldn't-!' Jasper stuttered, his cheeks paling. Blaine watched as the man across from him threw his gaze everywhere but at Blaine. Jasper kept glancing towards the waitress, who was standing a little away taking a couple's order. His hands wrenched themselves apart and started rapping their fingers on the table nervously. He took a deep breath, almost as though he was steeling himself. Looking down, Jasper said slowly; 'I never slept with Kurt.'

Blaine felt his stomach twist sharply. It was strange, and so very, _very _sick- but Blaine felt something almost like disappointment. If Jasper wasn't lying, and Kurt had never slept with him, like he claimed he would, then their months of fighting- the words, the slap- would have been for nothing. Nothing at all. No reason other than Blaine was jealous and angry. Blaine tried to block out the familiar weight of the guilt. _It was all his fault. _His stomach dropped and the world swelled outside with noise and static. Had it really all been for nothing?

Jasper's eyes met Blaine's with a quivering gaze. Something was shifting the moss-green and Blaine tried to catch it. 'Why would you even ask a question like that?' The response ended in a breath that was weighed with something Blaine couldn't identify. It rekindled the fire in Blaine. So what if Jasper didn't sleep with Kurt? This guy was still a major cause. Surely that counted for something? Surely he still owed Blaine an excuse, at least.

'Because you wanted to,' Blaine answered immediately. Whatever colour had left Jasper's face returned in a vivid flush. Blaine decided to continue before Jasper could interrupt again with more attempts of evasion. 'And don't deny it, we both know it's true. Couldn't have been more obvious if you tried. But I guess, how could you meet someone like my Kurt and _not_ want to?'

Jasper seemed to sense that Blaine did not expect, (or want), an answer to that question. Instead, he remained silent, his fingers ceasing their drumming and his eyes frozen to Blaines. The emotion was still lurking in the green, waiting. It seemed the severity of Blaine's purpose for meeting had tied Jasper's full attention to him at last. Jasper sat and recognised each word and Blaine saw them mirrored back to him in the eyes of the man who had caused so much damage. Blaine let himself continue, every poisonous feeling he had been letting grow within him seeping out in the words like blood from a wound;

'After all, you've met Kurt. You know what he's like,' Blaine said pragmatically They could have been discussing the weather. Blaine could see his calmness was worrying Jasper, could see the small beads of sweat on his forehead. 'He's beautiful, witty, so wonderfully _Kurt. _And, as I'm sure you know, Kurt is just such an easy person to fall in love with. How could you possibly resist? I know I couldn't.'

People were talking around them, the rain was still falling, but it soon seemed that the world had stopped for everything except the two of them sitting in the booth. The ferocious jealously that had been plaguing Blaine for so long was finally revealing itself to it's cause, the grief for Kurt fuelling him to go on- _he had to know everything. _Jasper seemed to look truly scared. Perhaps he was worried Blaine was going to hurt him, (and it couldn't be denied that the thought did cross his mind), but Blaine had decided that enough punches had been thrown over this bastard.

'Fine,' Jasper sighed in defeat, after what seemed like waves and waves of silence. Blaine could hear the hesitation, the way the word curved at the end. The way Jasper's eyes darkened. 'Alright, yeah- I admit it. I asked Kurt out, a lot. But I gave up. He said he had a boyfriend, but the truth is, I didn't give a crap about you. Kurt was always bitching about how you were never around, and how you were always in a bad mood when you came home. I was just trying to be a good friend! It's not my fault I was there when you weren't!'

The words erupted from Jasper in a angry mess, tumbling unto the table in a heap. Taken aback, Blaine had pick them apart carefully before thinking of response. People in the café were becoming quieter. Interest was turning. But then Jasper said something that shook Blaine to his very core; his soul cracked and his heart snapped at the corners. It pushed the previous statement onto the floor where it shattered like glass.

'And it's not my fault that when you knock him around he dumps you. If anything, it was his own stupid fault for staying with someone like you in the first place.'

Silence.

Jasper knew. Jasper knew what had happened. But if he knew- that meant...?

'You've seen Kurt.'

It wasn't a question.

Everything revealed itself to Blaine. Jasper's reluctance to come, his evasion. That shadow in his eyes- it had nothing to do with guilt, or some twisted sense of fear. Jasper was truly angry of Blaine. He truly believed that if he pushed Blaine far enough, he'd hit him. Just like he hit Kurt. Suddenly, Blaine felt himself crumple like a broken building. He collapsed onto the table, his face buried in his long guitar-weathered fingers. The coffee-shop vanished, Jasper faded- everything was gone except for the sickening revelation of what Blaine had become.

But still it was there- the _jealousy_. Jasper had seen Kurt. Which meant Kurt must've gone to his place, must've slept there. It was thick and so very hot inside of Blaine. He looked up, catching Jasper in the eye and watching the leaves of them burn at the edges.

'Where is he?' Was that his voice? It couldn't be.

'I don't know. He came to my place about a month ago, with a bag and a black eye that looked it hurt like fuck,' Jasper said, his words low and echoing disgust as Finn's had, but tinted with the same nervousness that had hovered in their whole conversation. 'I told him he could stay as long as he liked-'

'Did you try anything?' It was out before Blaine could stop it. Blaine could taste the air turning sour between them. Stale coffee and a sore jaw.

'What? No, I didn't try... Seriously? Is that the only thing you fucking care about?' Jasper retorted hotly, the words quivering as his anger seemed to battle his composure. Blaine pushed himself further into his hands. He had used Kurt's moisturiser. His palms smelt like Kurt's side of the pillow. 'You beat your boyfriend up, and instead of apologising like a _decent _person, you come harping on to me about whether or not I slept with him?'

Swearing, Jasper slammed a hand down on the table and stood up in a furious motion. Blaine raised his head just to catch the last sentence; 'I don't know where your boyfriend is, Anderson. With any luck, he's gone and found himself someone who knows the difference between a person and a punching bag!'

Then he was gone, the place where he had been ringing and flashing like lightening, leaving Blaine stunned. The door slammed behind him and Blaine was left alone once more, his thoughts swirling and heart splintered. The café was silent and he could feel everyone's eyes watching him. Pulling out a five dollar note and tossing it onto the table, Blaine rose from the booth silently, gathered his things, and left into the raining streets.

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><p><em>I don't know how I feel when I'm around you.<br>_I know how I feel when I'm around you.  
><em>I don't know how I feel when I'm around you.<em>

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><p><strong>The answer is "yes", having different lines of lyrics in a different style is significant. It's not just pretty. <strong>


	4. We Drink the Fatal Drop

**I am so lucky to have such wonderful readers. Your reviews are so encouraging, thank you so much! This chapter may seem a little slow, but I could not continue without it. It is a little short, but it really is more of a prelude to chapter five. As always, I hope I don't disappoint. All mistakes are mine.**

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><p><em>You wasted your time-<br>_On my heart, you've burned.  
><em>And if bridges gotta fall-<br>_Then you fall, too.

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><p>When Blaine arrived back at his apartment, there was someone waiting at the door. His jeans stained nearly to his knees, and his brown jacket dripping, Finn was leaning against the wall, his dark eyes studying the carpet as though he had been ordered to count every thread. For one wild moment, Blaine thought of running. But the drive died as quickly as it came, leaving him feeling heavier than he ever had before in his life. There was nowhere to escape to. All the had happened was too heavy to carry and Jasper's words were still echoing his ears like gunshots. Blaine clenched his fist, his promise ring pressing into his skin. Feeling the curve reminded him of the way Kurt's hand felt in his. The way their fingers sewed themselves together with olive and porcelain string. The memory was warm in Blaine's mind and it helped calm the storm. Taking a deep breath and pulling his keys from his pocket, Blaine walked over to Finn.<p>

'What are you doing here?' he asked, hoping he sounded curious and not as nervous as he felt. Finn jumped, like the question had scaled him. His eyes flashed as he looked at Blaine. Getting ready to take another punch, Blaine reached slowly across Finn to open the door. The polished wood of the door glowed in the corridors light. Blaine could recall faintly Finn's own admiration of it, of the whole apartment really. Wanted to know how Blaine managed to find somewhere of such size and quality with such short notice. Blaine remembered laughing about, pulling a joke about his father and "contacts". The laughter that had followed and drinks around a make-shift couch all seemed to be the memories of someone else. Someone with clean hands and a partner in bed.

'Kurt's gone.'

It took Blaine a few moments to recognise the words. But when he did, the keys slipped from his fingers and landed on the carpet softly. _Gone ? _Blaine turned to look at Finn and he watched the taller man's eyes soften. But his expression remained hard. Finn was here for something, and Blaine sincerely doubted it was just to share the news. If anything, Finn had sounded begrudging to admit it at all. But "gone"? What did that even mean? Blaine's hands stammered over the door handle for balance, his blood rushing in his ears.

'Gone?' he replied in a quiet breath. Finn seemed to look slightly off-put by this response and Blaine's apprehension increased. 'I don't- I don't understand.'

'He's gone,' Finn snapped harshly, the hardness returning to his features. Finn was never a good liar, but Blaine still didn't understand. He wasn't sure what Finn meant, what Finn wanted to hear. Finn glanced at the door, before returning to Blaine.

'Look, can you just open the door?' It was more an order than a request. Bending quickly to retrieve his keys, Blaine turned the lock. But before he could turn the handle, Finn had pushed him out of the door-frame and opened it himself, letting him walk into the apartment purposefully. Confusion forming like frost, Blaine followed silently, pulling the door closed behind him.

Finn opened the first door on the left; their bedroom. Blaine stood by the front door, letting his umbrella lean against the wall. Before he could even think of a question, never mind voice one, Finn had exited the room and stormed down the small hallway. Throwing a flustered look into the kitchen, Finn then continued past the lounge and straight towards the door against the right wall. The studio. Kurt's studio. Something clicked into place in Blaine's head and he suddenly found himself crossing the whole apartment and grabbing Finn by the arm, halting him. Clearly surprised, Finn turned and gave Blaine a warning look, his frustration obviously swelling. But Blaine wasn't scared. This was important.

'You can't go in there,' Blaine said, the words very steady. Finn's eyes narrowed, but Blaine cut him off before he could answer. 'That's Kurt's room. No one goes in there.'

'I need to check something.'

'Then check somewhere else,' Blaine said, his tone lowering. He knew that is was probably a bad idea to try and stop Finn from doing anything. After all, he had already hit him twice. He'd probably just hit him again, he was already halfway blown over. But this was more important that whatever Finn had to "check". Kurt's studio was the last thing Blaine could keep sacred for him. He had already destroyed everything else.

'No one goes into Kurt's studio. You know that,' Blaine added softly, knowing that the only way to avoid another punch for this defiance was to bring Finn's mind back to Kurt. Suddenly, Finn's whole form seemed to melt. Releasing the door handle, Finn walked past Blaine dejectedly, collapsing into the armchair in front of the window, his head falling into his hands as they rested on his knees.

In the dark of the apartment, the only light being grey and fading from the storming New York falling in through the voile, Finn looked like some wounded animal, hiding in the forest from whatever had struck it. This sudden weakness made Blaine feel under-footed. He expected a lot of things when he saw Finn, (another punch being the most prominent), but the last thing he expected was for Finn to show this. This defeat. Maybe before, before everything, Blaine wouldn't have been that surprised. He and Finn had become quite good friends. Never close enough to the level where Finn would call Blaine first if he had a problem, but understanding enough that neither would be ashamed to ask the other for help. But that was then. When Blaine was Kurt's boyfriend, the man Finn's brother was going to spend the rest of his life with. Not now. Now... Now Blaine was the man who had hit Finn's little brother for an affair that never happened.

Blaine honestly thought Finn's burning eyes and hard fist were the only things he'd ever see of Finn Hudson again. Not that any of inch of Blaine blamed him.

The lightening illuminated them briefly and Blaine felt the whole apartment breathe in, waiting. Releasing a long, drawn sigh, Finn rubbed his face before letting his arms drop aimlessly. Still looking at the floor, the words fell from his lips like raindrops; 'Kurt's left. I have no idea where he is. But I thought that maybe he'd have- I don't know. I just thought he might've come here. He was staying with me, but we had a fight last night and when I came home from work he was gone.'

Blaine recognised Finn immediately. The confusion, the absolute loss. It was unbearable, to suddenly know what was happening and then to be left alone with nothing. He saw himself, twenty-one days ago. It was exactly when Kurt had left him, only a foot taller and wearing motor stains. Blaine ran a hand through his hair, curls becoming loose but Blaine found himself uncaring. Sighing heavily, Blaine watched Finn carefully. His eyes were shining and his hands were clasped as though he was praying. Maybe he was. Blaine's mind wandered to Kurt. He had been in Finn's place. After all this time, he was five blocks away. His heart twisted regrettably, wishing he had the courage to call. To have asked. But he knew that it wouldn't have made a difference. Kurt would never have answered, and Finn would never had said. Thinking over many different things to say, most of which concerning Kurt and what they fought over, Blaine finally spoke;

'Do you want a drink?'

Finn looked up at Blaine, his eyes-brows bunched together. Although older, his face still held the ghost of the boy who couldn't understand the comprehension in French class, always staring at it as though by sheer will of thought, he would be able to understand it. This memory brought back the smell of paper and the sound of metal, but Blaine wasn't sure what else to say. The days of singing your feelings had long gone. Finally, Finn gave his chin the slightest incline and Blaine took the answer for what it was. To be honest, it was more than Blaine felt he deserved.

Blaine walked over to the kitchen and was half-way through the door before he realised it was his first time he had been in there since it had happened. Since he and Kurt had fought. The slap was suddenly loud and piercing, going right through his head like electricity, setting his whole body on edge. Blaine took a slow, deep breath. Trying to pace himself, Blaine entered the kitchen and opened the cupboard, withdrawing two small glasses before collecting a bottle of schnapps from the fridge. Blaine then fled the kitchen, the action reminiscent of when he was a child and he used to run up the stairs when the lights were turned off behind him, afraid of what could be chasing him from the dark. Not strong enough to even close the door, Blaine left the kitchen open where it bled guilt and hurt like a wound. Blaine forced himself not to look at it.

Settling himself down on the couch across from Finn, Blaine set the two glasses down and poured themselves two more-than-generous amounts. Finn was looking at the television, blurry shadows moving in the blackness as Blaine recapped the bottle. Blaine took a glass and held it out. Finn took it coldly, his eyes never meeting Blaine's. The air was thick with the smell of rain and thought. Blaine swallowed, taking his own glass. Finn drank first, taking a long swig, before lunging forward, coughing. Blaine jumped.

'Ugh, man,' Finn spluttered, leaning forward to catch more air. He patted his chest heavily before eyeing the clear liquid in the class suspiciously. 'What the hell is that?'

'Peach schnapps,' Blaine answered dully, regarding the slightly oily liquid as it rolled lazily around in his glass. It smelled sweet and crisp, but the metallic tang was heavy on Blaine's tongue. 'It's Kurt's. I don't drink, so it's all we have.'

Finn seemed to mull this over before he spoke again, the words cold and sour; 'Oh yeah. You were always such a screw-up in the drinks department, Anderson. And even now; you don't drink, you're still an ass-hole.'

The silence that fell after was almost maddening. Finn's words brought the afternoon back to front of Blaine's mind and Jasper's words rang like church bells in his head- condemning him. Something hopeless was consuming Blaine and he found it very hard to keep his drink down. Finn downed the last of his schnapps, his nose crinkling and mouth pursing. The room darkened as the light faded outside. It couldn't have been later than half five, but the winter was moving in, bring ice and dead trees. Blaine looked at the dying carnations on the table in the hall, their petals littered acros the table-top like snow. Blaine's grief for Kurt was still fresh, and stung sharply. His promise ring had gone cold. Feeling the tears well, Blaine drained his glass.

After what felt like another hour and after letting the apartment fall into near-darkness, Blaine finally rose from the couch to turn on the lamp that stood next to it. Yellow light flooded the room. The light caught Finn's face and Blaine realised with a shock that he had been crying. Silently, but quite earnestly. Finn quickly rubbed his cheeks, patting them and making them turn red. His burnished eyes seemed to take in Blaine fully, as though he was seeing him for who he was for the first time. Blaine read the words in the eyes of the man who could've been his brother-in-law and understood. He'd never tell a soul.

The words formed like mist in Blaine's mouth and he found himself unable to contain them. Seeing Finn so tired and so sad broke through Blaine's icy shell, releasing the hurt and loss he had been feeling for Kurt. But now he was so much closer than he had been before. So much closer to finding Kurt, for making it right. Or at least- trying to. The idea of seeing Kurt again both thrilled and terrified him. But he had to try.

Chewing his question awkwardly, Blaine moved from one foot to the other. Finn seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, his wrist rolling the glass in his hand in small circles though there was no more liquid to swirl. Breathing in shakily, Blaine walked around the back of the couch, holding onto it's edge like a lifeline. His memory unfairly brought up the image of Kurt, clutching the kitchen counter and moving like a ghost through smoke. Trying to push it from his mind, Blaine closed his eyes and prepared himself for what could be unleashed.

'How was Kurt? When you saw him?'

'A fucking mess,' Finn said, watching Blaine with a curiosity that didn't seem completely distrustful. But Blaine didn't let himself believe it. What he had done to Kurt still burned the bridges between them, leaving nothing but ashes and the heat of anger. Turning from Blaine and facing the studio door, Finn planted his glass on the table before leaning forward onto his knees again. 'He showed up at our place, with a bag. He said he had been at some guys place, but he couldn't stay there. Gave me some bull about not wanting to "hurt you anymore". He told me everything, and that's when I came to see you.' Finn seemed to think about something before adding; 'His bruise is faded now. Not like the one I gave you.'

'That's because you meant to punch me,' Blaine said before he could stop himself. Finn's head snapped back to Blaine and he found himself holding tighter to the back of the couch to steady himself.

'Don't think you can just talk your way-'

'I'm not trying to talk out of anything. But I am not going to just stand here and let you think I came home that night thinking; "You know what Kurt needs? A good slap!"' The words erupted out of Blaine like a gun spitting fire. The anger was brief, but vivid. Blaine tried to control himself. He needed to relax, keep calm. Getting angry was doing nothing. (But it was just so fucking easy).

Blaine studied the room around him. The white walls, the grey furniture. The floral patterned wall-mounts twisting the weak light and the book-case looking large and foreboding against the wall behind them. It had taken Kurt weeks to decide on a colours scheme. He eventually chose black and white because he felt that as they get older, and want to change, they'd have a practically clear palette to start from. But all Blaine really thought was the way Kurt moved in their satin sheets, the way the light poured in from the bedroom window, spilling across Kurt like paint because of the position of the bed. He missed him. Blaine missed Kurt so incredibly much.

'You shouldn't have done it,' Finn whispered suddenly. Blaine closed his eyes again, fearing that if he let go of the couch for even a second he'd crumble. The weight of Finn's statement soaked in the air between them and Blaine suddenly felt very heavy. 'You shouldn't have hit him.'

'I know,' Blaine said just as quietly. The hurt of what happened, of all the damage caused was radiating out from him and he felt his grip slacken. Turning his back to the couch and Finn, Blaine slid to floor, hiding himself from view. 'But I did.'

Thunder rolled outside and the air was thick with traffic and night-life, pressed against the window like mist. Blaine sat on the floor, thinking over everything that had happened. He thought of Kurt. Of where he must be. What he might be doing. The part of Blaine that loved Kurt, that needed him, wished hopefully that Kurt was somewhere alone, missing Blaine and wishing they could take it all back. But another part, a part Blaine knew to be slightly more truthful, revealed a different train of thought. Immersed in this, Blaine barely registered the sound of the fabric scratching as Finn rose from his chair. He came over and stood over Blaine, his hands in his pockets. The smell of rain was still on his clothes and skin and Blaine never felt more alone. The smell of Kurt's moisturiser had long since faded since the morning.

'What are you going to do if you find him?'

Finn's question is soft and Blaine looked up into Finn's deep eyes, browns swirling and tears still shining. Blaine understood. He understood that for just this moment, this smallest of conversations, Finn was allowing him. Allowing Blaine to be part of the friendship that they had spent years sowing together. Blaine swallowed, his throat sore and the tears he had held for so long finally curling down his cheeks. Blaine took a shaky breath and fiddled with the ring on his right hand. He could feel Finn's eyes watching his movements and Blaine felt that his presence was almost _invasive_.

Blaine answered truthfully, the pain and promise in the words threatening to break him completely. Finn nodded slowly, before leaning down and patting Blaine on the shoulder heavily. Then Blaine knew it was over. Their friendship had ended, and Finn was saying goodbye. Leaving Blaine on the floor, Finn left the apartment, the door closing with a final clap that made Blaine's heart clinch painfully.

Slowly, Blaine forced himself up off the floor. The empty void of the kitchen stared him like a horrible, blind creature and Blaine felt the familiar nausea of guilt. But he knew that there was no apology big enough. Walking past the kitchen, and pausing briefly at the door of Kurt's studio, Blaine continued on to the bedroom. He opened the door and already he felt the difference. The difference between life without Kurt, and the life he had had with Kurt. The smell of Kurt was everywhere and intoxicating, making Blaine's head swirl and stomach twist more than any amount of schnapps could. Closing the door behind him, Blaine kicked off his shoes onto the granite-coloured carpet. Opening the wardrobe, Blaine took out a pale, blue shirt. Shedding his clothes, he pulled the shirt over his chest where it fit a little narrower than his own, and hanging a little closer to his jocks.

The bed creaked in protest as Blaine climbed onto it. Unable to get under the covers, Blaine curled onto his side, facing the window where Kurt used to sleep. The soft cotton of the shirt brushing against Blaine's skin mimicked the way Kurt's hands did. The scent of cologne on the pillow and vanilla brought more tears to Blaine's eyes. Then, Blaine started to sob, uncontrollably and loudly into the covers. He watched the glass of the window curve and warp in the rain, the soft drumming like a strange lullaby, calling him to wars within dreams...

The drumming was suddenly loud and intrusive. Blaine blinked groggily. He looked around the room, the morning sun casting shadows in a cool light. Morning? Blaine pushed himself out of bed. It wasn't raining anymore, but once again a loud banging filled the apartment. It took Blaine a few moments to realise it was the door. Someone was knocking on the door. Blaine quickly grabbed a pair of dark, black pants and a pair of socks. Sliding his shoes back on as he passed through the bedroom, Blaine headed towards the front door. It couldn't have been earlier than ten in the morning. Confused and still half-asleep, Blaine quickly gave his eyes one last rub before answering the door.

His heart stopped.

Kurt was standing before him, his face glowing with an almost ethereal light and his eyes were churning in blues and greys. He seemed thinner, clad in only a white t-shirt and a loose black cardigan Blaine half-recognised. Blaine felt his heart begin to pick up again, beating twice as fast to make up for the time lost. Kurt opened his mouth, but closed it again. Blaine felt the world swerve beneath him.

Nothing mattered now. How could it? Kurt was here. Kurt was standing in front of him and Blaine had never wanted to kiss him any more than he did in this moment. But instead, he clutched onto the door tightly; he could feel the ends of his fingers turn cold. Kurt was taking deep, shaky breaths. Blaine could not think. He didn't know what to do. Feeling choked, Blaine whispered the name he had cried himself to sleep with.

'K-Kurt?' It was a breath. And it was all Blaine had.

Kurt's lips curled like ribbons catching the sunlight; the faintest of smiles.

'Hi.'

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><p><em>Then love-<br>_Until we bleed.  
><em>Then fall apart?<br>_In parts.

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><p><strong>Until next time, my dear readers. I will update soon, the next chapter is nearly finished. Once I'm sure all you readers are up to date, I'll post the next chapter. I hate going too fast and leaving people behind to play catch-up. <strong>


	5. We're Bound to Linger On

**Would you be interested in an one-shot depicting the time Kurt spent between leaving Blaine and returning? Or, would you prefer a story starting with Kurt's argument with Blaine? It wouldn't be too much trouble to write, as I know of all these exchanges. But would you guys be interested? And if so, which version?**

**Possibly the most important chapter of the story. I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

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><p><em>Doors slam.<br>_Lights black.  
><em>You're gone.<br>_Come back.

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><p>Kurt was sitting in the armchair, the warm light of the morning pouring over him, dripping down his shoulders and pooling on his legs. He was running his hands up and down his thighs, the way he used to in school when he was nervous, his overnight bag abandoned on the floor. Blaine watched from his seat on the couch the way Kurt's perfectly manicured nails caught the light, the way his fingers folded like paper. It all felt like a dream. It had taken every ounce of strength Blaine had to restrain from taking Kurt into his arms. Jasper's words and Finn's face still lingered like smoke from a fire in Blaine's mind and they held his hands back. Blaine didn't know if it was just wishful thinking, but he thought Kurt had looked slightly disappointed with this lack of contact.<p>

Blaine didn't really remember Kurt walking in, but he did remember following him into the lounge. The kitchen door was still open, but Kurt had either not noticed or had chosen to ignore it. There was the distant sound of cars outside as the world moved around them, but Blaine found Kurt's soft breathing to be what was filling his ears. The song he had forgotten- he remembered every word now.

Kurt let out a shuddering breath and Blaine was painfully brought back to the night of their fight. The stammering words, the trembling fingers and tears turning cold in abandoned hallways. He couldn't tell if it was just because the memory was so vivid, but Kurt's cheek still looked a pale pink, despite the time that had passed. Blaine knew his bruise was far more prominent. He knew it was greyish-yellow, and it still throbbed when he moved his jaw. Finn could throw a mean punch.

Kurt's gaze moved around the apartment, the furniture and colours sinking in the shadows of his eyes. Blaine felt his heart stop-and-start as he watched the man he loved. The words he had promised Finn suddenly seemed unfair. Why should he do it? But Blaine knew the answer; and he knew that no matter what Kurt said, or what they did from here, the outcome must be what he had decided in a raining apartment with a broken friend. Blaine needed to do it. And whether he knew it or not, Kurt needed it, too.

'I'm sorry.'

Blaine watched the words tumble from Kurt's lips, shaking and nervous. His heart broke. _Kurt, oh, my Kurt._ His eyes started to burn. He took a deep breath, his lungs quivering in his chest like deflated balloons. 'Kurt, you have nothing to apologise for.'

'No, Blaine,' Kurt snapped, cutting across Blaine. Blaine blinked, taken aback. For the briefest moment, Kurt was a sixteen year old boy again, fighting bullies in chain-linked staircases. Although Kurt was much older now, the defiance in his voice was the same. And Blaine could feel everything. Feel the bitterness of coffee on his tongue, the unbelievable heat of Kurt's lips on his in a classroom long left behind. Blaine felt a lump form in his throat. Kurt Hummel. Counter-tenor, student, son, friend. Lover.

Blaine was in love with Kurt. And he had never felt so much so in a very long time.

Kurt closed his eyes slowly, then with a consideration Blaine had almost forgotten, he opened them and found Blaine's gaze. The effect was immediate. Blaine found himself taking Kurt in fully for the first time. Finally comprehending that Kurt was _here. _Kurt was home. He felt himself study every single inch of Kurt's body. He was definitely thinner than Blaine had ever seen him. The cardigan looked too big and overly feminine, (even for Kurt), and Blaine realised with a strange mixture of affection and pity that Kurt hadn't intended on being gone so long. The bag he had packed was not supposed to last for this amount of time.

'Blaine, I just- I need to say it,' Kurt said, the words contained, his eyes never leaving Blaine's. Blaine felt his stomach twist with nausea as the weight of guilt began piling onto his shoulders. The repulsion in himself mingled sourly with the guilt of the final blow he had yet to give. He wondered selfishly; _Would Kurt ever forgive him?_

'Kurt,' Blaine whispered softly, the emotion revealing itself heavily and honestly. Kurt's eyes fluttered in the familiar way Blaine knew all to well. Blaine reached across the space between them- a test. A trial for both of them. Of where they stood now. What they meant to each other now. Blaine's hand grazed the side of Kurt's face, his hand too dark against the pink skin. Kurt's eyes stayed closed.

'I'm sorry I left you,' Kurt breathed. Blaine caught the words gently and held them close. The apology was so much more than what it said and so much more than Blaine deserved. Disgust pooled in his already turbulent stomach.

'Kurt, please. Don't. Don't say that, not to me. Not after-' And despite everything, Blaine still couldn't say it.

It was small, and barely noticeable, but Kurt moved. Within the smallest second, Kurt had moved his face into Blaine's hand and Blaine thought he was going to cry again. Moisture gathered in the edges of Kurt's eyes, clinging to his lashes like diamonds. The feel of Kurt's skin beneath him was spectacular, an explosion of so many different things, leaving fragmented debris of past emotions and words. He wanted to pull Kurt close, finally kiss the man he loved properly after being away for so long. He wanted to pour everything into that kiss; how lost he had been, how much he loved Kurt, how _fucking _sorry he was.

But he didn't.

Instead, Blaine traced his fingers over Kurt's face. He curved down his cheek, followed his lips and smoothed his chin. Kurt always had such a smooth face. Not like Blaine, who had always been prone to stubble. But Kurt had always said how he liked that. Blaine felt his chest swell with a tenderness that was only ever for Kurt. His promise ring glowed in the light of Kurt's face and Blaine felt almost faint at the realisation of all he was about to lose.

Blaine stood at the edge of his procrastination. It would be so easy, so easy to just let everything fall back into what it was. They could just kiss, cry and fall into bed. They could even make-love and Blaine would wake up as though the last twenty-one days had been nothing but a bad dream. But Blaine knew he couldn't have that. He had denied himself such a life the moment he had lashed out, the moment his hand had struck Kurt's face.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine decided to step over the margin of his waiting. He felt himself falling.

'Kurt,' he whispered again, his hands dropping and taking Kurt's own in his fingers, rough with age and guitar strings. Kurt's ring was cool against his skin. 'Why did you come back?'

'I shouldn't have said those things, Blaine. I didn't mean them.' It was an answer to the wrong question, despite the sincerity and depth to them. Kurt seemed perplexed by the question. The grey in his eyes darkened like gathering storm clouds. Blaine could see the thunder rolling.

'I waited for you,' Blaine said painfully, his hands tightening on Kurt's, rings warming. Kurt held onto him in return and Blaine could feel the air getting thicker and his task getting heavier. 'I waited for you, Kurt. And I really... I didn't think you'd come back.'

'I live here,' Kurt replied sardonically, with an air of slight impatience in his voice. Blaine registered the change in tone. Already, Kurt was putting up his defences. Could he sense it? Did he know? Blaine could feel something shifting in the words. Kurt was still angry. Blaine's broken heart twisted guiltily. The warmth in his eyes threatened to spill and Blaine knew that if he held any tighter to Kurt he'd risk hurting him. Again. He loosened his grip.

'You came back.'

The words were frayed at the edges but Kurt caught them. Sighing gently, Kurt gave Blaine's hands a final squeeze before rising from the chair in one graceful movement. Blaine took in the whole of Kurt's form and found glasz eyes watching him from beneath a beautifully styled coif. The green in them was familiar and soft.

'Look, how about I make us some coffee and we can just- we can just talk,' Kurt suggested in a voice that was not unkind, but nothing like the way he used to speak to Blaine.

His long fingers brushed against Blaine's cheek and Blaine could feel the electricity between them. Kurt moved slowly towards the kitchen. Blaine swallowed, almost choking on the words that he had taken weeks to realise. The words that had haunted him. They were hoovering in the kitchen when Kurt left Blaine, they were written in the laminate where Finn had punched him, they were spoken in a conversation with a man Blaine had let destroy everything. The weight of them. The sheer burden of having them was too much to bear, and now... Now Blaine knew.

'I hit you.'

Kurt froze. Blaine could hear his tall, black boots stall on the floor, his breath catch in his throat. Blaine closed his eyes and tried to focus, but everything within him had crumbled from the truth and admission of the words. There was no going back now.

'Blaine, _please._' Barely more than a whisper, but Kurt's voice was a plea. Blaine tried to tune him out, tried to forget. But there were so many years, so many "I love you"'s, so many nights in bed, hugs, coffees and songs. 'Blaine, please don't do this. Not now.'

'No, Kurt,' Blaine said defiantly. He had to be strong. But it hurt. Fuck, it hurt. Blaine pushed himself off the couch and turned to face Kurt. Kurt was looking at him, his slender body angled away from that damn kitchen and towards Blaine. The colours in his eyes were split into jagged blues and burning browns. _I love you, _Blaine thought hopelessly to himself. _I love you, I love you, I love you..._

'What I did,' Blaine started, but the words were so hard to get out. He tried again. 'What I did to you was... unforgivable. I was so disgusted with myself afterwards. All I could think about was how you looked. God, Kurt. You looked so scared and it was all my fault. I mean- Kurt, I _hit _you!'

'Blaine, don't.' There it was again; that plea. Was that Kurt's voice? Not a Kurt that Blaine ever knew. He had never heard such a desperation before. But it was there and it had the words unravelling like string. 'Blaine, you weren't yourself. Please, let's just sit down and-'

'Would you stop,' Blaine murmured sadly. It was not a request. Kurt fell silent and Blaine offered prayers to whoever would take them that Kurt would forgive him. Forgive for hitting him, and forgive for whatever came next. Blaine watched Kurt gather the ends of his cardigan and start to twirl them around his fingers. Kurt suddenly looked so much younger than Blaine had ever seen him. Blaine spoke again. The words were sore and bruised; 'You don't- you don't _owe _me anything. So don't try and excuse it. You came back for a reason, Kurt. So just say whatever you came to say.'

'I came back because I love you,' croaked Kurt, each syllable cracked, the emotion behind them holding all the pieces together.

He was starting to cry. Blaine's prayers were going to go on unanswered. Blaine wanted to tell Kurt that he loved him, too. That he'd do anything for him. That he needed to understand that Blaine had to do this. He knew Kurt wasn't lying. He knew it was why Kurt had come back. Blaine was the same. He would've always come back. He couldn't have survived, couldn't have been able to live knowing Kurt was somewhere waiting for him. But he also knew that Kurt was a romantic. Kurt always saw the best in people, was always willing to take the blame to save them from hurt.

But Blaine couldn't allow him this time. He couldn't say that he loved Kurt back, and he couldn't let Kurt know how much it was going to hurt him. Feeling the tears prickle the corners of his eyes, Blaine appealed to Kurt softly, warmly. He needed to let Kurt know that it was okay. This was Blaine's fault. _This is my fault, _Blaine thought.

'Kurt-'

'Why did you hit me?' The question created miles.

Blaine had expected Kurt to say a lot of things. He had expected to him to ask why hadn't trusted his friendship with Jasper, expected him to storm over how angry he was at Blaine, confess how much he had missed Blaine. But what he had asked was so much worse. It was the one question Blaine had prayed and hoped and wished Kurt wouldn't request of him. What could he say? _I was jealous? I was angry? I was insane? _All were pathetic, and held only echoes of fact. But all so much better than the truth. Blaine knew that if this was the route the conversation took, it would be so much harder to make it right. But he couldn't lie. How could he? He owed Kurt so much. And Blaine definitely owed Kurt the truth.

'Because-' Blaine tried to say. He had always been such a coward. _Forgive me, Kurt. Forgive me. _'Because, I had hated you. I hated you in that moment.'

Silence, raw and freezing cold settled between them. The ends of Kurt's cardigan fell away and his fingers were frozen. Blaine saw the light in his eyes go out. Like someone had blew out the sun that shone in them. Blaine's throat constricted painfully tight. He was going to cry, he knew it. But Kurt was crying first. Kurt released a breath that shook the whole room. Blaine became very aware that it was still Kurt's shirt he was wearing. It felt nothing like Kurt's skin, but Blaine knew it could be the closest he ever got again. It was so_ hard_.

Kurt gave a breathy laugh. It was the coldest thing Blaine had ever heard, chilling him right to the bone. 'You hate me? Well, isn't that something to come home to?'

There it was again. That _sarcasm_. Those walls Kurt had built out of years and years of picking fights. Was that all this conversation would turn out to be for him? Because it was so much more than a fight for Blaine. Blaine tried not to be hurt by Kurt's response. But it was just so hard, and this hurt just so much and it barely mattered that Blaine had just no right to feel anything but sheer gratitude. But it wasn't that easy. Was it ever going to be that easy?

'You know that's not what I meant, Kurt,' Blaine said as kindly as he could, but the words were just too heavy. Kurt snapped at the weight of them.

'Oh, I'm _so _sorry,' he spat, his retort watery. Holding back his tears, Kurt crossed his arms. Had he always been so skinny? Blaine thought sickeningly of the dinner he had thrown to the floor. Had Kurt even eaten since then? Kurt regarded Blaine critically, like Blaine was a particularly hideous item of clothing that had his boyfriend greatly offended. Kurt's mouth pursed when Blaine said nothing. 'Go on, then! I'm clearly not following, so why not explain?'

'Don't you get it, Kurt?' The frustration- it was back. Blaine rubbed his face furiously, trying to control himself. He thought he saw Kurt flinch from the outburst. Guilt riddled him like a familiar drug that had lost it's high. Blaine growled in defeat. 'Jesus, Kurt. For _months_, you and I had been growing apart. And instead of doing something over it, we ignored it. Then Jasper came into the picture, and you only seemed too glad to have a distraction. How was I supposed to feel over that? With every day you were with him, I could feel myself losing you more and more. And then you vanished!'

Blaine hadn't meant to shout the last part, but it erupted out him before he could stop. There was no guessing this time, Kurt definitely flinched, his arms not only crossed but hugging tightly to himself, hands ghost white against black cotton. But Blaine couldn't stop. He needed to say it, now. When he had the courage. 'You vanished for a whole day and night, ignoring my texts, calls. What was I supposed to do? I tried calling everyone else, and no one knew where you were. And when I come home, after spending hours worrying and worrying, there you were. Making dinner like everything was fine.'

'Blaine-' Kurt started, but Blaine interrupted.

'And then we fought and I had never been angrier with you, Kurt,' Blaine said, lowering his voice. The walls of the apartment were stained enough with shouted hurts. 'I mean, how hard would it have been to just call and say "I'm staying in Jasper's tonight", Kurt?'

'I didn't want to upset you,' Kurt whimpered, his past bravado fading. Blaine felt himself wince like the words had hurt him. Kurt continued; 'I knew how you felt about him. I just- All I wanted was a night to myself and some friends.'

'But you never said that, did you?' Blaine tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but he found it wavering. 'I know we were fighting, Kurt. But should've said, you should've called. And then that _fucking _fight. It was insane, what we were saying. But then you said- And I just... God, Kurt, I was your _boyfriend.' _Could that word ever really be enough to summarise what they had been to each other?

Suddenly, Blaine paused, his thoughts stopping as he realised what he had just said.

Kurt noticed it, too.

'Was?'

The single word was more terrible and felt more real than anything that had passed between them since Kurt had arrived back at their door. Blaine knew he couldn't stop them this time. The tears fell fast and salty, down his cheeks and off his chin. Using his teeth, Blaine bit onto his lip tightly to prevent it from trembling. Kurt's mouth was open slightly, his pink lips parted, hands still tight on his own shoulders. He looked scared, but in a different way to before. Blaine reached out, before pulling his hand back in. He had to do this, he had promised himself.

Blaine sniffed thickly, the realisation of what he had said sinking in like bullets in sand. Trying not to sob through the words, Blaine tried to speak; 'Kurt, I hit you. _I hit you_.'

Kurt took the distance between them in two long strides. He was before Blaine and his eyes were shining again. Blaine wished he wouldn't look at him like that. Then, Kurt's hands were on Blaine's face. His palms were soft from moisturisers and his hands were toned from years of pulling spanners and fixing engines. He held Blaine steady like a needle waiting to thread. Kurt spoke softly, but there was that desperation in the words. This Kurt was a man Blaine barely recognised. He already looked defeated, and the war hadn't even ended yet.

'Blaine, please don't do this,' Kurt said carefully. 'I'm sorry about Jasper, and about that stupid fight.'

'Kurt, just stop,' Blaine said, taking Kurt's hands in his own and pulling them away. He never wanted to let them go. Blaine blinked to keep tears from blurring his vision, his view of Kurt and the life they had built together. 'You and I both know why you're apologising. And you don't need to. What I did was _terrible. _And no amount of fake apologies will take back what_ I did_._' _Blaine repeated the words. _Please, Kurt, _he begged silently. _Understand. _

'You don't hit the person you love.'

Suddenly, Kurt was himself again. He snatched his hands and took a step back. His whole form was blazing, a fire in his eyes. Then Blaine knew this was it. This was the final round. Kurt breathed in sourly, the green in his eyes turning a cold blue. 'So that's it, then? History repeats itself and Blaine Anderson is off running, again! What is this? _Hit and run?_'

'Don't-' Blaine couldn't help but feel stung. How could Kurt say such a thing?

'No, save it,' Kurt snarled, the fury in his words making Blaine go cold. He had never sounded so angry. Kurt gave another mirthless laugh. 'God, trust me. My boyfriend slaps me and all I can think is how it's all my fault. So I come home, planning to fix everything. Planning to make everything better... What kind of a fool, am I?'

'Kurt, please.' Now Blaine was the one who was pleading. Kurt's eyes went stale; there was nothing in them now. Blaine was crying earnestly now and he could see the tears still fresh on Kurt's cheeks, cold as china plates. _Forgive me_, Blaine implored to no one. _Forgive me._

'Pack your things, Blaine. Pack whatever you want. Then get out.'

'Kurt-'

'Get, out.'

Blaine closed his mouth and tried to stop from hiccuping, his sobs had become so strong. Kurt folded his arms and looked away, his eyes staring off into the distance. He had never looked so beautiful. Blaine took control of every inch of himself, forcing himself to walk. Walking past Kurt was one of the hardest things Blaine ever did. Kurt said nothing, but Blaine saw his shoulders collapse out of the corner of his eye. Kurt was crying now, too. Properly, seriously crying. More than Blaine had ever experienced Kurt do so before.

He loved him. He loved Kurt so fucking much.

Blaine grabbed his laptop satchel from the side of the dressing table in their bedroom. His notebooks and papers were all inside, as were his laptop and accessories. Trying to calm himself to stop his hands from shaking, Blaine took a rucksack from the bottom of the wardrobe and piled as many of his clothes into it as he could. Zipping the bag up, Blaine was about to leave when he spotted it. Making a short double-take, Blaine took the photo-frame from the dressing table and slid it into a slot of his satchel. He couldn't leave it behind. Not with everything else.

Blaine stepped out into the hall to see Kurt standing before the kitchen door. His eyes were shining in the morning light with tears, the white of the reflection almost dazzling Blaine. He appeared to be studying something Blaine could not see. Kurt's slim form seemed silhouetted in the hallway, his black jeans and cardigan draining all the colour from him. Blaine gripped onto his satchel, the rucksack's weight strange on his back. He took a step forward, but the movement woke Kurt from his reverie.

For a few moments, they both just stood there watching each other. Blaine wondered briefly if Kurt would stay in the apartment they had bought together, but Blaine's father had found. He wondered if Kurt would keep the photographs on the fridge, and the scarves in the closet. The most selfish part of him wished Kurt would. The fist that had hit him, however, reminded Blaine why he shouldn't. He tried to tell himself he was doing the right thing. This was what Kurt needed. Blaine was distantly aware of his jaw throbbing like a ticking-clock. Time to go. Time to fix it. Time to leave.

Then, Kurt was moving again. He stalked past Blaine and his ceramic fingers _clinked _together as he fumbled with the door. Opening it wide, Kurt stood to the side of the door-jamb, his hand holding fast to the edge of the door. Blaine choked silently and Kurt's bottom lip quivered. He never got to kiss him goodbye...

Blaine walked past Kurt in silence, but Blaine could feel the grief emanate from his now ex-lover. Kurt's ring was still shining on his finger and Blaine wondered if he would send it back, or throw it away. All Blaine really knew was that he was keeping his own. Blaine turned and Kurt faced him. Kurt's mouth opened and his tinted eyes glimmered pinkly. Blaine thought he heard Kurt breathe his name, but nothing followed. No words, no pleas. Blaine suddenly felt like was falling, faster and faster towards the frighteningly hard ground.

'Kurt...'

He had opened his mouth to apologise, and he nearly said "I love you".

Kurt froze from closing the door and watched Blaine with an emotion Blaine couldn't name. It was written all over his face, but Blaine couldn't recognise the words. With more tears threatening to spill, Blaine closed his mouth silently. Kurt broke like a doll, arms loose and face cracked. He closed the door and Blaine sighed with heavy regret and the cold stone of grief and guilt swelling in his stomach. The hallway was deserted and the morning was beginning to buzz into noon. But all Blaine could think about was how he had left his whole life on the other side of the door before him.

It was another twenty-two minutes before Blaine finally had to strength to walk away.

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><p><em>Stay gone.<br>_Stay clean.  
><em>I need you-<br>_To need me.

* * *

><p><strong>I have over ninety-eight alerts on this story. That's insane, I'm so lucky! If anyone of you have the time to review this chapter, I'd appreciate it. After all, I write for you so without feedback I'm left writing blind which can be very difficult. Was this chapter what you expected? If not, what did you expect? Your reading and thoughts on the story are what keep me going, and I'm beyond flattered with the interest this has gotten. <strong>

**So thank you everyone! All those who alerted and favourited, and especially those who took time to review!  
>~ATGNT<strong>


	6. Thought I Had You Figured Out

**I give you the one and only, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. I hope this chapter doesn't seem too slow, but I felt Kurt's feelings and re-action deserved a whole chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint anyone, especially those of you who requested Kurt's perspective.  
><strong>

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><p><em>You and I walked a fragile line.<br>_I have know it all this time.  
><em>But I never thought I'd live to see it break.<em>

* * *

><p>Kurt closed the door quietly. It closed with a soft <em>click<em>, before leaving the apartment silent once more. Kurt leaned against the wood of the door. The wood felt strange against his skin. Suddenly, home no longer felt like home. The unbelievable hurt of what had just happened stung like a burn and bled tears. Kurt felt his teeth grind and eyes shut. Sliding down the floor, Kurt let himself go completely. His pride in refusing to cry so truly in front of Blaine cracked and his sobs leaked from between the fissures. Blaine's eyes were flashing cruelly in Kurt's mind, bright and unforgettable, like they had always been. Kurt pulled his knees up to himself, crying into black denim and trembling fingers. Blaine was gone. Blaine had _left_. Kurt leant back, hitting his head off the door. This was his fault. Kurt hadn't intended on being gone for so long. He had packed the bag in a haze of fright and desperation. He never thought he'd end up on Jasper's couch for two weeks, or in Finn's spare bedroom for an even further seven days. And even when he finally had the courage to leave, he had ended up running to Mercedes' place instead of here.

His head spun dizzily. Kurt had ran, like a coward. He should've stayed, not just _that night_, but the night before. The night that sparked their growing enmity. So what if he and Blaine had been stressed? They should've made it work. Kurt should've had the balls to make it work. But instead... Kurt ran a hand through his hair, gripping the roots tightly and pulling up, as though in the hope of pulling himself out of the suffocating ache that turned to lead in his veins, weighing him down in the apartment that had flooded with words. Tears were hot and falling fast and suddenly Kurt felt fifteen, crying over bad-names and lost solos. But this wasn't just an insult, or some part Kurt had wanted. It was Blaine. Blaine Anderson.

Kurt's best-friend. The man Kurt loved. His ex-boyfriend.

Kurt shied into himself. Even in his own thoughts, the word sounded all wrong. It couldn't be true. Kurt held tight to his hair and pulled again, hitting his head off the door a bit harder this time. The apartment felt claustrophobic; memories of the life Kurt had built with Blaine scattered everywhere. The memory of the bitter distance that had grown between them. Kurt touched his cheek lightly where Blaine had hit him. He wondered in spite of himself if Blaine had meant to hit him as hard as he did. The part of him that was still desperately in love with Blaine hoped not. The part of him that remembered each word he had spat told him he deserved it.

He thought of Blaine. How he had looked. Blaine's dark curls loose and hard with dry gel, his brown eyes swirling like water. His face when Kurt showed up at the door. Why hadn't he kissed him? Why hadn't he pulled him into his arms, (like he used to), and said what Kurt had been waiting so long to hear? _Because he just doesn't anymore, _a resentful voice said in Kurt's head. Kurt shook his head vigorously. Bad thoughts. That's what his mother used to call them. The things Kurt had thought about that made him cry, or made him hurt. She had called them "Bad Thoughts", warned him to never let the Bad Thoughts in. To close the doors, lock them and lose the key. But Kurt couldn't shake the words ringing in his brain like loose nails, couldn't lose the look on Blaine's face dancing in his mind like a fresh nightmare; _"I had hated you. I hated you in that moment."_

Kurt had been so _sure. _So sure that if he came home, and finally had the bravery to face what had finally reached boiling point between them, they could work past it. They had survived everything else. Sebastian Smythe, Kurt leaving for college, leaving Blaine behind. But past trysts and plans felt like nothing but the dust of something long gone. Kurt looked at the promise ring on his finger, the weight of it never truly felt until now, when it had lost it's value. He found himself sobbing once more.

Kurt wasn't sure how long he had been lying on the ground, but long enough for the morning to fade from yellow to a bright blue, shifting lazily through the voile on the window. He could see the light move down the hall in the lounge. Despite the cool winter sun, everything in the apartment felt cold and separate. Kurt sniffed densely, his breathing ragged and torn from tears and grief. Kurt turned and faced the door, placing a hand against it, wondering ruefully if Blaine was on the other side still. Or if he was still in the building, maybe Kurt could catch him. Take the hand that had placed the ring on Kurt's finger and never let go. But the wood was cool beneath his fingertips and Kurt just knew that Blaine wouldn't have stayed.

Not Blaine Anderson. The child who ran from his bullies when he was sixteen. The boy who ran from his father to New York City. The man who ran from his boyfriend, Kurt, who had loved him. Blaine Anderson. The boy who kept running.

Trying to push aside the bitter thoughts and using every ounce of his strength, Kurt finally rose from the floor. For a moment, he felt slightly dazed, faint. But the apartment slowly came into focus and the truth of what had happened began to sink in. Kurt was alone. In an apartment with two sets of shampoo, two sets of dinnerware. There was a coat in the closet Kurt had seen Blaine forget and the DVD's of _Classic Doctor Who_ were still mixed in with _White Christmas _and _His Girl, Friday. _Kurt felt queasy, and quickly ran for the en-suite in the bedroom. But he stopped dead in his tracks. The room was empty. Truly, really empty. Kurt felt something haunting, something translucent and not really there, as he stepped up to the built-in wardrobe, it's doors flown open. All Blaine's shirts were gone, as were his pants. Kurt ran a finger over the hangers, their wood resembling the door too much under his skin and Kurt suddenly felt quick sick again.

Taking deep breaths, Kurt tried to steady himself. _Don't let the Bad Thoughts in. _Sitting down on the bed, Kurt regarded the wardrobe open before him. All his own clothes were pressed up against the left side, pastels and whites blending in the shade. Kurt felt the stab as his heart cracked down the middle. He missed Blaine's funky cardigans, and the sight of his patterned shirts. What was he supposed to do with all that space? Fill it? Kurt didn't think he could even bring himself to throw out Blaine's shampoo, never mind replace such a gaping whole. Moving his gaze from the wardrobe, Kurt caught the dresser. It looked... different.

Raising shakily from their bed, Kurt stepped over to the dressing-table, the deep umber of the glossed-wood glinting in the sunlight drifting down from the window. There was a very faint layer of dust over it and Kurt wondered distantly if Blaine had even _been _in their bedroom, if not used it. Kurt's moisturisers were where he had left them, all moving down in order of height. Blaine's half-finished tub of hair-gel was placed at the other end, (left open the way Kurt would always scold Blaine for), and it appeared to be the only thing that had been touched. But that wasn't what was off. Something was missing.

Then it hit Kurt like bucket of ice-water, hard and knocking all the wind from him. Blaine had taken it. He had taken their photograph. Kurt caught his own frightened reflection in the mirror as he scrambled across the desk, checking the floor to be sure. All the other frames were there. Christmas two years ago, Kurt's father's fiftieth. Kurt checked them all off in his head. Kurt and Blaine on the NYU campus. Kurt at Finn's twenty-first. Prom, 2011... Prom. Blaine had taken it with him. Feeling a strange mixture of having his heart broken all over again and irritation, Kurt sank onto the floor once more, feeling choked.

That was _Kurt's _photo.

Blaine could've taken anything, Kurt had told him he could take whatever he wanted. But he didn't think that would include things that were Kurt's. Why take it? It was Kurt's, not Blaine's. It had been Kurt's prom, it had been Kurt's cursive scribble on the back depicting the word "courage". Perhaps Blaine saw it as _theirs_, due to his eighteen-year old presence in it, but the boy in that photograph had grown up and had aged with months of heartache and anger. Heartache and anger that Kurt had caused. Kurt felt guilt and sorrow mingle strangely within him, like oil on water. Kurt watched the place where the photo had been, the space it had left being one of the only places on the desk clear of dust.

Kurt gathered the ends of the cardigan Mercedes had lent him and rose as gracefully as he could manage from the ground. Kurt gave the bedroom one more glance around, but it appeared all Blaine took had been the photograph and his studies. Releasing a very heavy breath, Kurt walked out of the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind him. Heading straight to the hall table, Kurt looked at the phone. He could call him. After all, Blaine had done nothing but call when Kurt walked out. But when Kurt took the phone in his hands, he found he just couldn't. The message he had left weeks ago for Blaine felt cruel now and the idea of calling after Blaine made it perfectly clear what he wanted seemed almost... unfair. Kurt bit his lip. Why should he care what was fair on Blaine at all after all he did?

Pressing the buttons quickly, Kurt held his breath as the tone dialled. Kurt tried to swallow the tears, but the lump in his throat was too big. The voice filled his ears like a familiar song and Kurt tried to compose himself.

_'Hey,' _Finn's words were cautious. Perhaps he saw the caller ID and suspected Blaine. Kurt held tight to the table, memories of the night Blaine had hit him radiating up from the tips of fingers. The smell of dead flowers was stinging and pungent. Kurt attempted to speak stoically, but he had used all the dignity he had left in his last fight with Blaine. A fight Blaine didn't even try to win. A fight Blaine took and left with. Did he even care for Kurt anymore? Kurt almost sobbed into the phone. The words came out tasting like tears and sounding like hurt.

'B-Blaine. He left.'

_'Shit. Kurt... Are you, like, okay?' _Finn sounded worried and Kurt could hear the distant bustle of life at Finn's place. Kurt glanced at the clock on the answering machine. _12:43pm. _He shouldn't have called. Finn was on lunch, he'd have to go back to work soon. Kurt found himself worrying his lip again.

'I'm...'What? What was he? Kurt felt his lip tremble and the tears were back, leaking softly down his cheek. Where Blaine had hit him throbbed like the bruise was fresh instead of faded. 'Oh, God, Finn. What have I d-done? This is all my fault!'

Kurt broke down, releasing the table's edge and holding his face in his hand. The sobs were distraught and jagged at the edges, and they hurt. They hurt so much and Kurt felt cut, bleeding everything he had left all over the home he had had with the man he loved. The man he loved who left him, face bruised and alone. The raging emotions inside Kurt flashed like a twisted kaleidoscope. He felt so angry, so betrayed and so desperately alone. The Bad Thoughts.

_'Kurt! You can't say that, man. This is Andersons fault, not yours.' _Kurt listened to the words, but felt nothing but resentment towards them. Finn just didn't understand. Didn't get how much Kurt had _hurt _Blaine. But something growled in approval of Finn's statement and Kurt felt the twisted sickness inside him again. _'Look, Kurt. I'm coming over. I'll grab some lunch or something.'_

'No, Finn,' Kurt managed, panic too evident in his voice. The last thing he needed was for Finn to see him like this again. 'No, it's alright. I'm fine, I just... I need to-'

_'I'll see you in about half an hour.'_ He didn't give Kurt the chance to reply, or decline. Kurt placed the phone down on the receiver. He must look a mess. Rubbing a hand over his face, Kurt breathed in and breathed out steadily. The world was too loud against the window of their apartment and the place was too sunny for Kurt's liking. Kurt sighed, and reached out for the withered carnations. His ring caught the light.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Kurt snatched the flowers from the vase, splattering water across the table-top and floor. He stormed to the kitchen and burst through the door, opening the bin and throwing the flowers with every bit of strength he had into it, pushing all the anger and pain he was feeling in with them. Slamming the lid of the bin shut as roughly as possible, Kurt breathed deeply in the empty kitchen. His eyes found the place where he had cleaned. Even now, there wasn't a trace of the tomato. No evidence of what had happened in there. Kurt clenched his fists and fled, running down through the lounge and flinging open the door of his studio.

Silence.

It was blissful, complete, silence. Nothing of the shifting New York traffic could be heard and nothing of Blaine's was in there. This was Kurt's place. Kurt sighed to himself and clicked the lock shut behind him. Flicking the light on, Kurt submerged himself in the serenity of his own ambitions. An easel and drawing board stood together to the right of the room and a pile of fabrics were piled together across the small love-seat against the back wall. The room was small, barely fitting the desk and workspace it held, a mannequin posed by the easel and walls holding framed posters of Broadways shows. But it was Kurt's and Blaine had never truly had a presence in the place.

Kurt stood against the door for what felt like hours. Breathing in the scent of satin and charcoal pencils, Kurt felt his heart slow down, his tears dry. He knew this was temporary, and he'd eventually have to leave his sanctuary. But in here there was no New York, there were no promises and there was no Blaine Anderson. And with a vile jolt bringing back the painful memories of the morning, Kurt realised there was no Blaine Anderson outside the room either. Blaine had left and he had taken everything Kurt held sacred with him.

Kurt was interrupted by a knocking from down the hall. Wiping his face with the edge of Mercedes' cardigan, Kurt straightened himself and unlocked the door. Careful to close it behind him, Kurt left the studio the way he had left it. Trying to straighten his shirt and fix his hair, Kurt fumbled with the lock on the front-door. Opening it revealed Finn, who seemed over-bearing in his height and disgustingly sweet smile. Kurt didn't even have the energy to say "hello", and merely stepped aside to let his step-brother in. The smell of Chinese food filled his nose and Kurt's stomach churned uncomfortably. Finn looked too bright in their monochrome world, his green t-shirt too striking and his jeans vivid. Kurt didn't think he could've hated his brother more than that moment.

Finn grinned sheepishly and held up the plastic bag of food like a peace offering. Kurt felt his eyebrow quirk despite himself. 'Where did you manage to find Chinese food before one o'clock?'

'It's like, almost half-one now,' Finn said as if this explained everything. 'That woman a few doors down from you let me in when you didn't answer the buzzer.' Kurt hadn't even heard it. Then to Kurt's great dismay, Finn turned and walked straight into the kitchen. Kurt almost stopped him, but he found his voice had exerted itself with it's small contribution of spite towards Finn. Closing his fists in a means of steeling himself, Kurt took a deep breath before following his brother into the kitchen.

The kitchen was bright with afternoon sun and the smell of food wafted lazily through it. Finn looked strange, his large form moving around the kitchen in places where Blaine used to be. Kurt felt tears prickle again, but kicked himself mentally. He couldn't cry anymore. Or at least, not in front of Finn. Pulling his sleeves low over his hands, (mostly to hide the view of his ring), Kurt moved into the kitchen fully. Only when he managed to tear his view from the place where Blaine had grabbed him, Kurt realised Finn was standing still, looking perplexed.

'What?'

'I have no idea where your plates are,' Finn replied stupidly. Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, mainly because his eyelids had become heavy from crying. Silently cursing Finn for coming over at all, Kurt walked purposefully over to the cupboard by the sink. Kurt opened it and withdrew two plates, remembering the way Blaine always had to stretch to reach the high shelves. The memory brought back the echo of a laugh and the ghost of kiss. Kurt grabbed a glass from the shelf also, placing all three items on the kitchen's island. Finn had settled himself on one of the stools, and Kurt gave the kitchen a glance over, before spotting what he wanted in the lounge on the coffee-table. _Strange_, Kurt thought and went over and retrieved the bottle. _Blaine doesn't drink. _

When Kurt returned to the kitchen, Finn had already served himself, the cartons of noodles and sweet-sour chicken poured over his plate. Finn was using one of the provided plastics knives, (the kind Kurt abhorred but Blaine had always enjoyed messing with). Blaine. There it was again. That sting. Kurt placed the schnapps on the table, refusing to sit in the partner stool and pulled his glass over to him. Finn was eyeing the drink strangely, as though he feared it might bite him. Kurt decided to ignore this and proceeded to pour the alcohol into his glass. All the way, practically to the rim.

'Woah, Kurt. Are you sure you-?' Kurt gave Finn a look that silenced him and then took a long gulp of his drink, the alcohol stinging and raw on the back of his throat. But Kurt found he didn't care all too much. The shock of it seemed to shake his body into focus. It felt... relieving.

Kurt drained his glass, the smell of peach overpowering him. He poured himself another glass, almost as full and he heard Finn make a slight cough which he ignored. Kurt drank again, wondering if he could drink himself into a coma with half a bottle of schnapps. He doubted it, but that didn't mean he wouldn't give it a whirl. After all, he'd always been such a tight-ass when he was younger. Unlike Blaine-

No. The Bad Thoughts.

For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was that of Kurt's glass grazing the granite and Finn eating. But after a while, Kurt found his step-brother looking at him from over the island, his deep eyes swirling with dark emotions. Kurt found the depth in his brother's gaze disconcerting and suddenly feeling very self-conscious, he pulled at the cardigan again. His awareness switched to the ring, and to Blaine and suddenly everything came crashing down again. Unable to hold it in, Kurt started crying again, first just tears, but then disintegrating pathetically and uncontrollably.

Leaning onto the counter, Kurt held his face in his hands. Finn's arms were suddenly around his shoulders and the feeling of being trapped returned once more. Pulling Kurt close to his chest, Finn made awkward movements with his hands, the way Carole used to when they were in high-school. But Finn wasn't a parent, and Finn didn't understand how much this _hurt_. So the hands just felt unwelcome and hard against Kurt's back. But Kurt found himself clutching onto Finn anyway, the smothering realisation that he was alone weighing him down into the lean arms.

For a long time they stayed that way until Kurt's sobs had subsided. Kurt closed his eyes and tried to avoid wiping his wet face on Finn. He tried to pull away, but Finn was reluctant. So Kurt stayed and tried not to let his control waver anymore than it already had. The sun was still bright outside with watery light, the loose lights shimmering on the kitchen surfaces made Kurt think it had started drizzling through the sunlight. The rain hadn't stayed away for long. Kurt took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Finn's hand suddenly clenched onto Kurt's shoulder, holding him flush against his broad chest.

'I'm sorry,' Kurt heard Finn mumble into his hair. The words were so heavy. 'I'm sorry he left you.'

That sting. That hurt.

'So am I,' Kurt whispered truthfully into Finn's shirt. He looked at the ring glinting on his finger like it was smirking and Kurt couldn't stop himself from thinking; who broke their promise first?

* * *

><p><em>I'm holding my breath.<br>_Won't see you again.  
><em>Something keeps me holding on-<br>_To nothing.

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><p><strong>Goodness, I haven't written Kurt in so long it took quite a while to get a feel for him again. As you can see, he's far softer than Blaine, and certainly less raw in his emotions. Not that in any sense does that makes them less valid.<strong>

**So many people were asking for Kurt's perspective that I couldn't deny it any longer. Thus, I wrote this and found myself falling quickly back into the old routine of Kurt. I had forgotten how sentimental a character he was. **

**Well, my dear readers. Opinions? Do I write a good Kurt? If so, will continue to write in both Kurt and Blaine's perspectives respectively, or would you prefer I revert to Blaine and continue from there?**

**(And yes, I know. Finn again. But he's just so adorable... albeit very interfering).**

**~ATGNT**


	7. Beating Like a Hammer

**I am so, so sorry this is so short and took so long. This is really just setting up for the next chapter, which will be in Kurt's point of view. My exams are this week and I am just swamped. But trust me, this really is just a calm before the storm. Thank you all so much for being so patient. I hope to update again in the next two days.**

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><p><em>I tremble.<br>_They're gonna eat me alive.  
><em>If I stumble.<em>_  
><em>Can you hear my heart beating?

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><p>The clouds were sweltering and loud, crashing together clumsily and terribly and Blaine began to wonder if it would ever stop raining. The only time it seemed the weather had taken a break was the morning Kurt returned to him. It was like the whole world had taken it's breath to see what would happen next. And once the door had closed, it's final <em>click <em>so tragic and final, the sky returned to it's raining. Blaine tried to get comfortable in the bed, but the sheets were too rough and the pillow was too hard. And the whole bed was just too wrong. Blaine wasn't sure how long he had been sleeping, but he had been up long enough to watch the sky split like an envelope, revealing the blushing sun at dawn. He had watched the world start moving again, slowly swimming through puddles and dripping trees. December was coming, pushing November back with frost-bitten fingers. After spending little over a week of doing nothing but sleeping and watching, Blaine was beginning to think he'd never be normal again. Never go back to the man he was before some stranger hit his ex-boyfriend in an angry kitchen. Ex-boyfriend.

Blaine hated that word.

Mercedes' voice was smooth and calling him from behind the door. She was speaking softly, as though afraid she might wake him though Blaine knew she was perfectly aware he was awake. But Blaine didn't want to leave the bed. The door opened quietly as though sighing and Mercedes entered the room. Blaine could hear her slippers on the lumpy, wooden floor. Nothing like the smooth ones in their old apartment. Blaine's chest hurt when he remembered. Mercedes mumbled something about breakfast but Blaine couldn't hear the exact words, his ears filled with cotton and scratchy pillow-cases. Blaine didn't want to have breakfast and face Mercedes again, his heart getting heavier with each time her eyes shone with an accusation and pity simultaneously. He wasn't even that hungry. Except that he was, and his stomach had decided had that moment to betray him. Blaine could almost imagine Mercedes crossing her arms at the deep gurgle. The sun caught the glass of a photo frame sitting below Blaine's pillow.

'Blaine, you need to eat.' Blaine knew there was a kindness in those words, but the order was more prominent and Blaine knew better than to disagree. Pushing the blankets off him, Blaine clambered out of the bed, staring at the two teenagers caught in the middle of a laugh, staring with glossy eyes out of a photo. The frame looked too _new_ lying in Mercedes' woolly sheets. Blaine stretched, the shirt catching at his fingers. Kurt's shirt was a duck-egg blue and branded from Armani with two breast pockets. It was also one of the two only things of Kurt's Blaine had left. The shirt was creased quite badly now after being slept in for so long, the soft material mapping the places where Blaine's body curved and fell. A an-almost perfect copy of the way Kurt had Blaine mapped.

Almost perfect.

Taking the frame into his hands, Blaine forgot Mercedes was watching him. It was old now, but well-kept. Kurt was always so particular about photos. No finger-prints, no dust. Blaine smiled as he remembered Kurt's prom. He couldn't remember the song he sang, or the name of the boy who sang after him. But he remembered Kurt. God, he was so young. They were so young. Touching the cool, glass face of a boy met on a staircase, Blaine left it back on his bed and rose from his sheets.

Mercedes kitchenette was a strange mixture of green-painted cupboards and warm wooden floors. Far from the cool greys and dark black Kurt had designed. But if anything, they only felt more indifferent. There was no window. Mercedes ambled in behind Blaine, the soft fleece of her dressing gown grazing against his hand as she passed him in the doorway. The warmth of it made Blaine feel suddenly overwhelmed. He missed holding Kurt's hand. He missed waking up and coming into their kitchen, kissing Kurt on the neck where he could reach. Blaine would always swear that Kurt had either kept growing, or he had been shrinking.

The fridge squealed as Mercedes pulled out a carton of milk, placing it on the table next to a slightly steaming pile of pancakes. The kitchen smelt of butter and coffee. Blaine sat down across from her, avoiding her gaze and helping himself to a pancake. They ate in silence for a long time, but Blaine could see the kitchen's light catch Mercedes' dark skin when she tilted her head to watch Blaine. About halfway into his third pancake, Mercedes spoke;

'You can't stay here forever,' she said, her twang still prominent despite years of Brooklyn arguments and New York jobs. The Big Apple hadn't been as kind to Mercedes as it had to Blaine. But all things considered, she had nothing to start with but whatever money she had in her account and Kurt. Two of them, thick as thieves. Blaine had had it much easier. With perfect grades, he flew into NYU and with a considerably larger bank account, he managed to settle himself far more permanently. And Kurt had come to join Blaine the moment he set foot on the New York pavement, refusing to let Blaine pay for their whole apartment and leaving Mercedes behind with an over-bearing Rachel. But years had gone by since then. The bags under Mercedes' eyes sang the lyrics of the songs she sang in the local jazz-club, lines on her hands from years of work in Brooklyn College. But Mercedes was happy. She had Blaine beat at that.

'You kicking me out?' Blaine joked humourlessly. Mercedes didn't laugh and put down her mug of milk, (Blaine was drinking from the only glass despite his protestations). It sounded heavy on the thick wooden table. Blaine swallowed his bite of pancake as Mercedes regarded him with an almost irritated look in her eyes.

'You know damn well that's not what I meant, prep-boy,' she snapped, running dark fingers through her frazzled hair. 'Don't-cha think it's time you went home and fixed this?'

Blaine breathed deeply. They had been having the same conversation for days. Round and round. Circles. Trying not to sound impatient, Blaine replied; 'We've been over this. There's nothing to fix.'

'Nothing to fix, my ass!' Mercedes cursed, her hand flopping onto the table with a slap. The pancakes shook and the milk splashed. Blaine held back a sigh. Circles and circles, round and round. Why couldn't Mercedes just understand that Blaine couldn't _fix _it? He hadn't told her what truly happened between Kurt and he, but he had the sneaking suspicion she knew already somehow. There was something in the way she looked at him. Blaine was almost sure Kurt had probably confessed to her at some point of his time away, but Blaine never asked and Mercedes never said. Blaine forced himself to look Mercedes in the eye, the brown shifting in gold light. She raised a finger to him, as though scolding a child. 'You and Kurt have been solid all these years. You guys have been through _Hell_ together- attacks, threats, school- you can hardly just throw that away for some stupid reason. You love him; I know you do.'

'It's not stupid,' Blaine mumbled, but out loud the statement felt like an excuse. Mercedes groaned angrily and threw her head back in a way that reminded Blaine of choir rooms and stale breadsticks.

'Blaine Anderson, you are such a-'

But whatever Blaine was, he'd never know as their conversation was torn down the middle by a loud ringing. Turning back to look out the small door into the cramped living room, Mercedes rose from the kitchen table and headed for the phone. Blaine released a sigh of relief. He couldn't stay here, not forever. But the more days that passed, the harder it was to leave somewhere where Kurt used to be. Harder to leave the life he had created with Kurt. The promise ring was cool and silver on Blaine's finger. He couldn't bring himself to take it off.

The smell of pancakes was dry in the air, warm and starched. Blaine watched from his seat as Mercedes' wooden fingers splintered, taking the white-plastic phone into her working grip. Her voice sounded far away and blurred from the kitchenette. A strange sense of longing pooled in Blaine's stomach like heavy smoke; he wished it was Kurt who was calling. He wished it was Kurt, calling Mercedes up in tears and begging her to let him speak to Blaine. But that was just Blaine's imagination. He doubted Kurt would ever call him again. But whoever was calling was causing Mercedes' brow to crease like worried silk, her eyes glinting briefly to Blaine. She walked back into the kitchenette, hands and eyes shaking.

'Well,' she stuttered into the phone. 'I ain't too sure about any of that. But Blaine's here, right now- if you like?' Her words were timid and she asked without speaking. Blaine felt himself nod slowly, but found himself strangely mute. His voice had curled up and hidden itself. Somewhere where words couldn't reach it and Blaine's breath couldn't warm it. Mercedes passed the phone over. The plastic was warm to touch and felt unfitting in his fingers. He missed his old phone.

'Hello?' Blaine croaked, his voice rusty from so much rain, the words slow with sleep.

_'Blaine! Oh, 'bout time! We've been calling your cell for days!' _Blaine thought guiltily of his cellphone, still abandoned on the bed-side table in their apartment.

'B-Burt?'

_'Yeah, 'course it is! Who else would it be?_' Burt Hummel sounded frustrated and all too real to Blaine. The reality of all that happened was suddenly crashing down upon him like bricks, buildings falling and lives crumbling. It took a few moments for Blaine to catch up with what Burt was saying. _'Where the Hell have you been? First Kurt calls telling us you guys aren't coming down. Then for the next two weeks, that's all we hear from either of you!'_

'I- I don't know what you mean,' Blaine stammered. He felt like a child, caught in the act of doing something wrong. But he couldn't tell the truth, not now. It was too soon, there was still- Still what? Time? Time to fix it? Blaine dropped his face into his hand, the phone becoming hot on his ears. He had said it himself, there was nothing to fix. Were Kurt and he even broken? Perhaps. But Blaine had all the wrong tools.

_'You know damn well what I mean,'_ Burt snarled down the phone. Blaine bit his lip, the words awkward on his tongue and clicking against his teeth. The kitchenette was suddenly feeling two times too small. Kurt's shirt suffocating him. He missed him. Blaine missed him so fucking much. _'Finn's been telling us nothing, and Kurt isn't answering any number we call. Bud, I may not be exactly "well-taught", but I'd be damned if I didn't know when something's up with my kid.'_

It was weird. Hearing Kurt referred to as a child. Blaine had spent so many years with him, watching Kurt grow from a fierce teenage boy into the a striking young man. But the thought of Kurt made Blaine's heart crack like glass. Burt was speaking again, the words greeting Blaine in a tumble of static and noise. Mercedes was watching him from the door, but she seemed to read the words on his face. Something like pain rippled her, and she leant forward to give Blaine a hard squeeze on the shoulder. Mercedes left in a whisper, the door closing behind her. Blaine was alone with a man ten and a half hours away, words moving through currents and faces sticking like spilled syrup.

'Burt, there's something I need to tell you,' Blaine started, but the words were stuck. Blaine didn't remember getting so old. He was older than Kurt and years behind Burt. But the weight of what happened and what would happen were heavy on his shoulders and Blaine felt like an old man, hunched with the mistakes of his life. The world was getting smaller and the air was getting thinner.

_'Alright, son. You're scaring me now. What's going on?' _Blaine wondered vaguely if Carole was there, if she was listening in. Strangely, the thought that she was made Blaine feel worse.

'Kurt and I, we broke up.'

The words sounded exhausted and defeated. Blaine was just so tired.

_'You-? What?' _Burt sounded dazed and almost laughing. Blaine felt a sting. He wished people would just _get it. _That they'd understand. He missed the egg-whites and skin of his old life. This phone was strange and this flat was not his home. And this man, he was not Blaine's father. But Blaine couldn't bear losing him, too. Blaine breathed deeply.

'We broke up,' Blaine repeated heavily, the words falling through the receiver and landing in the hallway of a big, empty house, thousands of miles from here.

_'I don't understand. What do you mean you "broke up", son?' _Burt sounded confused and irritated, like Blaine had told a joke that had grown tiresome. '_I mean, you guys were always so... Kurt never said a thing. Why?'_

'We had a fight,' Blaine confessed. Strange, how that was the easy part.

_'You broke up over a fight?' _Burt laughed softly down the phone and Blaine felt his brow twist. _'Trust Kurt to be over-dramatic. Give it a few days, Blaine. Kurt just needs time to cool off, you know how he is-'_

'No, Burt!' Blaine snapped. The other end fell silent, a confusion and insult swelling. Blaine tried to relax himself, tried to let go of the hurt and frustration. He spoke again, softer but the words were still shaking; 'No, it's not like that. Kurt and I just... grew apart. We decided it was best to just go our separate ways.'

Liar.

But Blaine couldn't bring himself to tell Burt Hummel that in a fit of jealous hurt and sickening rage, Blaine had lashed out and struck his son. He couldn't bring himself to tell Burt how Kurt had returned, days later, asking Blaine to help him work it out, begging him not to leave. Blaine couldn't tell Burt Hummel that he had said goodbye to Kurt, turned around, and left him, standing in an apartment with a bruise on his face and a whole bunch of promises broken, pieces of them caught in the carpet. And Blaine just couldn't tell him how much it had _hurt _or how much he _regretted _it.

Burt didn't say anything for a long time and Blaine could practically hear coins falling as the bill for the call had to be exceeding whatever Burt had expected. Blaine could think of nothing else to say, but he also couldn't bring himself to hang up. Burt Hummel was important. _So important_. They were Blaine's family, too. In a strange way; the easy, friendly way only accomplished through love. But Blaine's hand was stinging and Kurt's cheek was red. The same words over and over. Ringing in Blaine's head.

_I came back because I love you._

Blaine tried to repeat his mantra; he had to do it. He had done the right thing. All he could hear was Kurt's laugh, and Kurt's words, and Kurt's songs. The lyrics felt poisoned now, thick in his brain. Troubled and stewing like the clouds outside, bringing snow and frost. He had been such a fool.

_'Blaine, I- I'm sorry to hear that,' _Burt said after what felt like years. Blaine felt so much older. The pancakes were cold on the table and the glass of milk was shining with moisture. Rubbing tears off his face with his free hand, Blaine tried not to sound too small when he replied.

'I'm sorry, too.' But the words were just too heavy and Blaine cracked, the final sentence stumbling out of him in a tumble of water; 'I'm so sorry.'

Burt said goodbye sadly.

Blaine lost track of how long he cried to himself. The phone was left on the table, forgotten. Mercedes came in after a few minutes and took the three short steps to Blaine's side. She knelt down beside Blaine, reaching out and grazing him, inviting him. Blaine crumpled into her arms, missing the feel of Kurt's. Missing everything. The grief of everything was overwhelming and Blaine could barely breathe as water filled his lungs. He was drowning. Drowning in everything. Mercedes whispered things softly, and Blaine took the words carefully, tucking them into his pockets. After what felt like mere seconds, Blaine striaghtened himself, wiped his face and kissed Mercedes on the cheek.

'I've got to go.'

She didn't argue this time. But Blaine saw her heart break.

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><p><em>Help , I'm alive.<br>_My heart, it keeps beating like a hammer.  
><em>Hard to soft.<br>_Tough to be tender.

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><p><strong>Soon, we return to Kurt. I hope you all forgive me for what happens in the next few chapters. Again, I'm so sorry it was short and that it took so long. Thank you so much, my faithful readers for waiting.<strong>

**Question for you; do you think Kurt and Blaine should get back together in the end?**

**~ATGNT**


	8. Another Stitch to My Wound

**Kurt is very difficult to write sometimes.**

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><p><em>Once again it's happening; this love is unrequited<em>.  
>Twice the pain, the suffering.<br>_All this love is unrequited._

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><p>Truth is, Kurt hated coffee. Sitting in Tribes, Kurt took timid sips from his steaming mug of hot chocolate, watching the print of his book without reading. He had only liked mocha lattes for the chocolate. Generally, he found coffee too bitter and the taste too lingering. He had banned coffee from his home in Ohio since his father's heart-attack when he was seventeen, but he was sure his father had snuck the stuff back in through his wife Carole's bleeding heart. Kurt had always scolded her for being "too soft". She had always retaliated that Kurt couldn't take care of everyone. (Kurt often wondered what she truly meant by that). And then Blaine Anderson had blown into his life, and Kurt suddenly found the taste of coffee slightly more appealing. With each month, it even began to taste that bit sweeter. And after years, he had just gotten used to the taste of coffee and the smell of freshly ground beans in their kitchen.<p>

Now though, the black liquid had just been too strong and too sour. Kurt had ordered hot chocolate instead. It was sweet and warm, and tasted wonderful with the marshmallows. Kurt felt a little more like himself.

The rain had frozen in the passing Decemeber days, and snow was now drifting lazily down onto the pavement. There was buzz in the New York streets as decorartions appeared and trees became alight with red, gold and green. Kurt watched the air shift like curtains from his booth by the window. Cars caught the winter light in blurs and all the trees were bare. Prospect Park almost looked like it was breathing in the quivering snow. In the space of two weeks, the whole world had suddenly shifted. A reboot; covering everything in white like a blank page. Waiting for a new start. A start to a life without Blaine. Kurt swallowed his hot chocolate thickly. It tasted a little less sweet.

A clatter of wood and glass shook through the café as the door opened. A man with speckled shoulders and a woolly hat walked straight for the counter, catching the attention of the young waitress who Kurt had learned to be Helen. Kurt tried to relax himself. He thought he had recognised that hat. It looked exactly like one Blaine used to have, only now Kurt could see the bobble on top was too small and the wool the wrong shade of red. But still his heart pounded in his chest, as though desperate to release itself. From what, Kurt didn't know, but Blaine's voice was still singing in his mind, and Blaine's hands were still caught in Kurt's hair. Blaine's shampoo was still in the shower- unused.

The man turned and Kurt caught a flash of teeth. He knew that smile.

Jasper meandered his way through the tables and joined Kurt in a rush of melting snowflakes and shivery breaths. The smell of cologne and paper washed over Kurt like a wave of mist. Giving his best smile, Jasper caught Kurt's eye and Kurt felt his stomach twist. The guilt still hadn't gone away. Neither had the grief. Feeling immensely uncomfortable, Kurt tried to smile back- but even he could tell it was probably more of a grimace. Jasper, however, seemed unfazed by this less than warm welcome. Kurt couldn't help but resent him for it.

'Kurt! It's great to see you,' Jasper sighed warmly, rubbing his ungloved hands together. Kurt felt his spine tingle- he _hated _when people did that. The light was strange on Jasper's face and Kurt found the green in his eyes over-whelming. 'I've been worried about you. I tried calling your cell, but you never answered-'

'Sorry, I've been very busy lately,' Kurt said, the words coming out much colder than they were intended. Jasper seemed to stall, his smile slipping ever so slightly. Kurt felt another slate of guilt add to his stack like bricks. Licking his lips, Kurt tried again; 'Just with my paper, you know. And- Blaine.'

Jasper's whole face darkened. Like someone had turned off all the lights and Kurt had to walk on with a torch.

'Is he still giving you trouble?' Jasper asked, his accent strong and sounding alien to Kurt's ears. He had never gotten used to the Brooklyn accent. After all, nearly all the people Kurt usually hung out with were from Ohio like himself. The words were still strange and the voices still unknown to him. Kurt tried to catch his breath, but he found Jasper's eyes and the way his hands moved most distracting.

'W-what?' Feeling stupid, Kurt tried to correct himself. Shaking his head slightly, Kurt ran a hand through his coif carefully, so as not to disrupt even a single hair. 'No. No, of course not. Nothing like that.'

'I still say we should've called the cops on him,' Jasper snarled. Kurt felt himself flinch. He didn't like the "we". Turning a page in his book just to have something to do, Kurt tried to choose the words carefully.

'Blaine and I had a fight. It was nothing to call the police over,' Kurt stated pragmatically, hoping the words sounded as convincing as they had in his head. Jasper's eyes flashed like glass and Kurt gripped his book tighter. The pages creased and the words crumbled up in folds. For one brief, wild moment, Kurt could've sworn Jasper's eyes had been brown. 'It was between us and our relationship.'

'Not much of a relationship if you're beating your boyfriend 'round the apartment That's nothing but pure-'

'_Jasper!' _Kurt hissed his name sourly, glancing around quickly to see if anyone had heard. Jasper rolled his eyes and leant back in his chair. Slouched. Blaine never slouched. Kurt breathed in deeply. Kurt closed his book sharply, refusing to look Jasper in the face. Biting the inside of cheek, Kurt raised his mug to his lips. The porcelain was warm against his tongue and the marshmallows soft. But his fingers were trembling and Kurt put all his willpower into holding the mug steady.

'I never knew what you saw in that guy,' Jasper muttered, more to himself than Kurt it seemed. But Kurt felt something inside him pull. Putting the mug down, but leaving his fingers safe on it, Kurt felt his lips curl into what must have been a rueful smile.

'You've been saying that ever since I met you,' Kurt said, the words almost sing-song. Jasper groaned irately. Kurt bit his cheek again. Frustration was bubbling within him on a low simmer, but Jasper was really trying Kurt's patience. How could Jasper understand what Blaine meant to Kurt? He couldn't. It was impossible to describe how important Blaine Anderson had been, how reliant on him Kurt used to be. How reliant Kurt _was._ Drumming his spare fingers on the table, Kurt tried to keep his voice pleasant. 'I really don't know why it matters so much to you, Jasper.'

'Yeah, you do.'

The booth around them suddenly became much colder and Kurt knew it had little do with the snow. Kurt sighed. Jasper was becoming a heavier and heavier burden of a friend. Kurt adjusted his scarf gently, feeling nothing of the cashmere against his leather gloves. The brown material moved like water, umber and shifting beneath a pale, blue coat skin. Kurt had always loved this coat. He had had it for so long now; mid-high school, if he remembered correctly. Blaine had taken him for lunch in this coat, and countless other dates. Fearing the sting that suddenly sprung to his eyes, Kurt gathered his hands around his book and pulled it over, sliding it back into his bag. The hot chocolate was getting cold and Kurt was all to aware of Jasper watching him from across the table. Blaine's presence was between them and Kurt could feel the conversation they had had numerous times begin to swell again like the tide. Helen came over briefly, dropping off a large americano with two sugars before departing. Kurt avoided Jasper for a while, but it appeared Jasper was waiting for Kurt to speak. Defeated, Kurt obliged.

'We've talked about this,' he said resignedly. Jasper snorted bitterly, moving forward from his slouch.

'No, we haven't. _I've _tried to talk to about it, and _you've_ been ignoring me,' he retorted savagely and clumsily. Kurt ran a cool finger over his eyebrow, smoothing it down. A habit he never quite shook since middle-school. Breathing deeply through his nose, Kurt rested his arms across his crossed legs. He felt uncomfortable having his fingers on the table, where Jasper was now rested his fisted hands.

'Jasper, you're a really good friend of mine. But we have been over this, and I need you to understand,' Kurt said, feeling very much like an adult trying to correct a child. Only without any of the satisfaction and all of the exhaustion. 'You mean so much to me, you know that. But we- we just can't.'

'Kurt, _I'm mad about you!_' Jasper exclaimed, his hands flinging open like doors. His outburst caused attention to swerve in the café; a few people were watching them most closely now. Taken aback from the sudden movement, Kurt felt momentarily stunned. Jasper gave a nervous laugh and pushed a hand over his head, pulling his hat off and revealing his glimmery brown hair. Kurt watched the light move through it like grass. 'Man, Kurt. How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?'

'I never said I didn't believe you,' Kurt replied irritably. Feeling immensely trapped in the plush cushions and wooden frame of the booth, Kurt closed his bag and clasped it as loudly as he could in the hope of signalling to Jasper that the topic was no longer up for discussion. Unfortunately, Jasper ignored him.

'Then what is it then? If you know how I feel about you, why can't you at least consider giving us a shot?' he asked imploringly, hands open, inviting Kurt in. Kurt ran another hand over his forehead, frustrated.

'Jasper, I've told you before. I just don't think it'd be a good idea. Besides, it was a little unfair of you to just demand I leave my boyfriend for you,' he snapped, the words sharp at the edges. Kurt was half-tempted to tell Jasper that almost didn't matter, seeing as Blaine had left. But he couldn't bring himself to. Jasper looked confused and reminded Kurt vaguely of a kicked dog with his shining eyes and downturned lips. Kurt sighed. 'We just can't, Jasper. I'm sorry.'

'Look, Kurt.' Kurt watched Jasper carefully. He was running a hand through his hair and watching the snow move. It was getting worse outside, a wind blowing silently through glass moving a white world like paper. 'Just... I'll be around your lecture hall at about half three. Wait for me there, okay? I'll walk you to your next class.' Kurt smiled in spite of himself at the words so familiar and Jasper caught him. 'What?'

'Nothing, you just reminded me of someone I used to know,' Kurt replied with a soft smile meant for someone else long since gone. But with the memories of football fields, came the memories of Blaine watching games on their television, shushing Kurt for the "important bits". Feeling suddenly quite tired, Kurt spoke again; 'Thank you, Jasper. You're too sweet, but I think I'll manage myself. I am perfectly capable of walking myself to class.'

Kurt rose from the seat gracefully and went to leave. But something firm and ice-cold held him fast. Kurt felt something like electricity snap through him, everything sizzling inside him and his head buzzing. The way it always did when Jasper touched him. Kurt tried to hold his breath in the hope of stopping his heart beating so quickly. Swallowing thickly, Kurt met Jasper's gaze, the green so verdant and warm Kurt almost yielded to him. But there was something weighing him down to the crunching, wet floor by the finger. He always forgot to take it off. Jasper spoke sincerely and quietly, but Kurt could still feel the sting. And it hurt.

'I would never hit you, Kurt.'

Kurt was winded by the statement. Breathless, he let the words out like birds; 'That's not fair.'

The feathers fell and brushed across Jasper's face like shadows. Kurt felt the release of the street outside calling him. Jasper let go of him gently and Kurt had never hated someone more than he hated Jasper in that exact moment for being so tender. Did he have any idea how he made Kurt feel? The thought and presence of Blaine stepped between them again and Kurt felt overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and longing. Longing for who, Kurt wasn't sure he would admit. Jasper sat back into his chair and took a sip of his coffee, leaving Kurt free. But Kurt didn't move for a few moments. He couldn't take his eyes away from how Jasper's fingers curled and the way his jaw moved. His skin marbling in such similiar colours to Blaine. Kurt took a shuddering breath, before tightening his coat around himself and leaving into the frost.

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><p><em>That must mean I'll live again.<br>_And give back what I gave my men.  
><em>Get back what I lost to them.<br>_All this shame, this crying game.

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><p><strong>A little break from the absolute heavy-ness of angst. Still angsty, but with a little more motion in it I think. To think, things were bad before, but now they just complicated. But what do you guys think? Do you like it?<strong>

**Why do I love writing such unfortunate situations for my boys?**

**~ATGNT**


	9. Ransom Notes Keep Falling

**Would you guys like me to introduce any other Glee characters aside from Finn, Mercedes and Burt? I'm avoiding Rachel, to be honest.**

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><p><em>Hmm, what you say?<br>_That I only meant well.  
><em>Well, of course you did.<br>_This is just what we need.  
><em>You decided this.<em>

* * *

><p>Blaine stood outside the apartment door. The wood was beautiful and smelled familiar. The shining brass of the 32C title glimmered in the lights of the corridor. The wood was dark and looked expensive against the deep, green paint of the hallway. Blaine's heart was pounding in his ears, blood rushing and limbs shaking. He knew Kurt wouldn't be home. Kurt had lectures on Wednesday evenings until half eight. And it was quite a few subway stops between their apartment and Kurt's college. Blaine always used to expect Kurt at about quarter past nine. But as October faded to November, Kurt had been later and later each night. "Helping Jasper with his deadlines", he used to say when he arrived at half ten in the night. Blaine swallowed the furious lump in his throat, his heart twisting angrily. Blaine took a few steady breaths. There was no point in getting hurt by those things now, he thought to himself.<p>

Pulling his keys from the pocket of his snow-damp, navy cardigan, Blaine regarded the ribbed metal. Was this wrong? Wrong to cross the boundary Blaine had initiated, but Kurt had sealed when he tearfully asked Blaine to leave? Blaine pushed the heavy thoughts of Kurt to the back of his mind where they burned like wood. He needed his cell-phone. His supervisor would be looking for him, and his parents were probably trying to contact him about his Christmas holidays. But something sorrowful and made of stone settled in his stomach. The weight of being on the threshold of the home he used to have with Kurt made Blaine feel dizzy. An overwhelming vertigo from being on the roof of a skyscaper made of blocks of memories. Tearing holes in the sky. The tears were welling again, like melting snow. Cold.

Blaine slid the key into the lock and let himself in. The effect was immediate. The whole floor beneath Blaine seemed to swerve violently and he almost lost his footing. The smell of Kurt was everywhere, memories of him crashing like waves against rocks. The apartment was dark as the winter evening cooled to a deep twilight. An orange glow was cast across the walls in the lounge from the window, fuzzy and smeared from the voile. It was suffocating, being there again. Blaine closed the door behind him. He didn't bother turning on the light. He knew the way.

Walking the short feet in the hall to his bedroom door, Blaine pushed the door open. The air was thick in his lungs, lead turning hard. Blaine took in the sight. The curtains were open on the window and there were millions of shadows criss-crossing along the room as the snow continued falling outside. The room felt lonelier than anywhere Blaine had ever been. The silence of the bed was enormous, the sheets made like clay. Kurt was always so picky about that; making the bed. Blaine crossed the room and took his phone from the bed-side table, where it had been left- ignored. Whether Kurt had chosen to do so, or had simply not noticed it, Blaine couldn't say.

Turning it on, Blaine blinked from the light. It started vibrating violently, messages pouring in from their traffic in the static. Blaine refrained from reading them and slid the phone into the pocket of his grey slacks. They, too, were damp from the snow and Blaine felt the chill. Blaine left the bedroom, careful to close the door behind him. The apartment's coat-closet faced him in the hall, directly opposite. Thinking of the snow outside and his wet pants, Blaine retrieved his heavy coat from it. It still smelled of rain and guilt. But he put it on anyway.

Blaine walked a full lap of the apartment, taking in the pictures of he and Kurt on the shelves. Their whole life spelled out in frames and books mixed with DVD's. Moving silently through their life, Blaine didn't miss the empty wine bottle on the table, a glass partnered with it. Muscat. Kurt's favourite. The grief was back and Blaine was suddenly hit with the reality that this may be the last time he would ever be in their apartment again. The thought was like a gun shot and the bullet buried itself into him, tearing through flesh and bone, blood dripping all over the laminate.

He did not go into the kitchen.

Suddenly, he heard the door click. The snow moved the orange walls, the whole apartment moving like clocks. The door opened and Blaine could hear the shifting of keys and fabric. Light filled the apartment. Panic consumed him, but Blaine found himself unable to move from standing in the centre of the lounge. A long sigh came from around the corner in the hall and Blaine felt it hit him like a bucket of water. It was so loud. Then, he revealed himself. Coming around the corner with his leather satchel opened in front of him as ceramic fingers rummaged, his blue coat brought Blaine back thousands of miles to Italian restaurants and chain-linked fences.

Kurt.

Stopping briefly to press play on the answering machine, Kurt turned and froze. His glazs eyes cracked and all the colours fell apart. Blaine felt his heart break. The air turned cold. Kurt dropped his bag and the contents spilled like water, moisturiser, pens and his phone scattering everywhere. His pink lips opened and Blaine could count the breaths he was taking. _This isn't fair, _Blaine thought desperately. But still neither of them could move. Blaine tried looking away, but found his eyes stuck.

A loud beep rang between them and the messages started speaking like ghosting people, but Blaine could barely hear the words. Kurt was looking at him with such a strong emotion of surprise and something else Blaine couldn't place, that not even breathing seemed to matter anymore. Blaine left his hands in his pockets like folded envelopes, terrfied that if he dared move, his arms would be around Kurt and kissing the him like he hadn't in so long. But Blaine knew he couldn't do that. Knew that all that happened between them could not permit that.

_'...Kurt, I don't know why you're ignoring our calls. But this is my tenth one this week, kiddo. We need to talk about this situation with Blaine. Don't do this, Kurt. Locking yourself up never worked when you were young either...'_

This was insane. It was crazy of Blaine to come back and think he could get away with it.

_'... the annual Christmas party is coming up, Kurt! Be there, or I will have to hunt you down and drag you! We need to go shopping! Not to mention our pre-party drinks. Don't forget to tell Blaine...'_

Kurt looked like a doll with a cracked face. A broken toy. Blaine didn't think he could go through this all over again. Snow fell like leaves outside in the city that never slept.

_'.. I wasn't sure whether I should say or not, Kurt. But Blaine stayed in my place about a week ago. I think you really need to talk to him...'_

The words were piled like bricks on the floor. Building walls for homes with no people. Kurt's presence was all over Blaine and the grief was so sour and harrowed within him. Blaine loved him. He_ loved_ him. But Kurt still looked stunned, and the words that fell from his lips were soaked in disbelief;

'Y-you?'

His shoulders were damp and there was snow caught in his sagging coif. God, Kurt looked so thin. His skin was tinted purple in the shadows under his eyes and the presence of the empty wine-glass stained itself into Blaine's memory. Resentment and shame poured down Blaine's shoulders, pulling him down with dripping fingers. The kitchen door was closed behind them. Blaine swallowed his heart thickly down his throat. Kurt's eyebrows creased like string, his blue eyes shifting to green with brown shadows. Kurt's hands were still frozen with clasped fingers, holding onto a dropped bag. Blaine felt his heart stop.

'What are you- _how can you be here?_' he whispered. Blaine felt his mouth open, but no words came. Something crossed Kurt's face. 'Are you... are you back?'

'I came for my phone,' Blaine answered quietly, terrified that if he rose his voice even slightly he'd end up shouting. Screaming and crying over how sorry he was, how much he missed Kurt. But he kept the chains locked tight around his voice, holding it steady. Shadows crossed Kurt's form as snow moved outside; a spectre caught between two worlds, skin glowing and eyes shining. Blaine wanted to rush out and wrap his arms around Kurt's waist and tie a bow. Hold them together like he had countless times before. When Kurt's father relasped, the day he made love with Kurt for the first time, Christmas last year...

Kurt's gloved fingers closed on air and he pulled them into his chest in delicate fists. Blaine felt eighteen again, palms sweating and thoughts reeling as he sat down, telling Kurt for the first time how he felt. He remembered Kurt's suspicions, the colour of his eyes amongst expensive wood. Blaine remembered everything. Tilting his chin down, Kurt asked; 'Is that all?'

'Yes.' Blaine swallowed, his coat heavy on his chest. Something broke between them. The guilt was so dense within Blaine and it hurt. Unwanted thoughts of the night that ruined everything pushed into his mind. Jasper's half-known face and Kurt's flaming cheek. Blaine felt winded. But he couldn't let go. Not yet. _Just a bit longer, _he thought despairingly. 'You're home early.

'I took a taxi,' Kurt replied immediately, fists closed, protecting his heart. They looked strange in the dark gloves he was wearing, familiar now only Blaine looked at them properly. All Saints, Brodie gloves. Bought years ago, but Kurt's hands hadn't changed since then. Fingers still long, palms still soft. Blaine's hands felt lonely in his pockets. Kurt's eyes were watching the floor. 'I couldn't stand getting the subway in all that snow.'

'I should've guessed,' Blaine said softly, a smile ghosting in spite of himself. Kurt looked up and caught him. The smile vanished. Something in Kurt's eyes flashed like sun on glass. Something warm across a cold surface.

'You shouldn't have come here,' Kurt said thickly. He raised his chin the way he used to when talking down to bullies. Blaine felt stung and something tugged at the corner of his eyes. 'I've got to get ready. I'm going out.'

'Really?' Blaine found himself asking before he could stop himself. Kurt made a strange movement, like he was stepping back. But he was stoic when Blaine looked again.

'Yes,' he answered in the same breathy voice that reminded Blaine of nights in bed and the morning he left simultaneously. 'I'm going to that Greek place on seventh avenue with... some guys from my one of my classes.' Blaine felt it twist inside him like a blade at the half truth.

He let out a bitter laugh and saw Kurt flinch. 'Jasper sure isn't one for missing an opportunity, is he?'

Kurt looked like he had been slapped again, but for the first time, Blaine didn't care. The hurt inside him caught fire like oil as a searing hot stab of perfidy went through him, burning the edges of his skin. Jasper. Of course. Kurt made to step forwards, but Blaine turned on the spot, another acrimonious breath of laughter escaping him. The ghost of snow crossed over the two of them in waves as the sky darkened and the shadows became more prominent. The betrayal of what he had just heard hurt more than Blaine would ever suspected it would.

'Please stop,' Kurt pleaded in a strangled whisper. Blaine felt a rage quiver inside him, but it was short-lived and drowned out in the impossible weight of hurt he was feeling. 'It's not like that.'

'Then what's it like?' Blaine retorted harshly. Kurt's fingers twitched.

'He was there when I left my lecture this afternoon. And he just- I don't know. He just asked me. It wasn't... planned,' Kurt finished lamely. Blaine took no comfort in the words.

Blaine hated Jasper. He truly did.

In his pursuit of a further degree, Kurt had met Jasper in one of his classes at the start of the year. Kurt had been gushing, saying how good it was to have someone to talk to as everyone else was so "up their own ass". Blaine hadn't given him a second thought until Kurt came home late one Friday evening in October, looking pale. When asked, Kurt had replied enigmatically that he had had "a long day with some strange news" and it was "nothing to worry about". Blaine caught Kurt's phone ringing with Jasper's name that whole weekend. Kurt ignored them, and ignored Blaine's questions on the matter. But then _it _had started. Jasper was behind on his Christmas paper, Jasper needed Kurt's help, Jasper had no one else. The excuses had been endless and bulletproof. Blaine had grown suspiscious of the long nights, of the phone ringing at all hours just to be ignored.

And then _that_ night happened. The night Blaine called Kurt out on it and Kurt had left, claiming he needed "some time to think" before he vanished for twenty-four hours, only appearing the next night when Blaine returned from NYU to the smell of tomato and pasta. That stupid, horrible fight.

'Whatever,' Blaine sighed bitterly, avoiding Kurt's gaze. The room splintered.

'Excuse me, but you have _no right _to stand there and dictate who I can and cannot go out with!' Kurt countered viciously and Blaine caught movement as Kurt pushed his arms down his sides. 'You're the one who ran off. You _left _me.'

Blaine closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear the words, he didn't want to see Kurt's face. The unbelievable pain of the last month was just too much and Blaine felt old wounds split and bleed. Guilt and damaged feelings swirled violently within him. The words tumbled out of his mouth like stones; 'I had to.'

'Bullshit,' Kurt snapped. His whole body seemed to be shaking with something. Blaine felt like everything they had was crumbling down around them like sand. He ran a hand over his face, pasting guilt like paint. Blaine felt tears spread across his cheeks on fingertips.

'Kurt, I-'

I hate you. I can't believe you. I want you to miss me. I need you. I love you.

Kurt folded his arms and Blaine was vividly reminded of the day he broke up with the man before him. It felt like a sick joke, to be here again. To be forced to do it all over, different words, different fight. Same ending. Blaine felt tears well like a damn as the green in Kurt's eyes chilled to an icy grey. The snow was melting in his hair and running down his china face. Blaine wanted to brush each droplet away and take everything back. But the hurt was too much and the anger was too big. For both of them.

'I'll leave now. I shouldn't have come,' Blaine finally said, shaking his head as his thoughts raced and constricted him. He went to move and it felt like a dream. Happening around him, not to him. But Blaine kept his eyes fixed on the ground, Kurt's presence lingering like a statue in a frost-bitten garden in the artificial light and blue skin of his coat. It was cold in the apartment.

He was in the hall after a few steps and had his hand clamped around the door-latch on the front-door when he heard it.

'Wait.'

Blaine felt his breath catch in his throat, his hands tighten onto rough fabric within pockets. He turned around and Kurt was before him. Blaine hadn't even heard him move. Kurt's left-hand glove was clutched in folds in his other hand. His arm outstretched towards Blaine like a tree branch. There was something clutched in Kurt's porcelain fingers and it caught the light, shimmering silver. Blaine looked away from it and met Kurt's gaze.

Kurt's lips were pulled thin and pale and his eyes looked like marbles there were so still. Unreadable. Blaine looked at the offered ring again and felt everything inside him collapse. When Kurt spoke again, the words were cold and he didn't stutter once.

'Take it.'

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><p><em>Hmm, what you say? That it's all for the best?<br>_Because it is.  
><em>Hmm, what you say?<br>_What did he say?

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><p><strong>Jealousy, my dear readers. Never underestimate the darkness of it's shadows. I hope this chapter doesn't diappoint. Next chapter, Kurt.<br>~ATGNT**


	10. Those Sad Eyes Look Sadder and Sadder

**I loved writing Kurt in this scene. But just to warn you, it's probably going to hurt.**

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><p><em>I don't like the things you don't<em> say.  
>Leaving it for such a long, long time<em>.<br>__Why do you show me those sad, sad eyes?  
><em>Each time you decide to pass on by.

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><p>Kurt felt lighter when he had taken the ring off. His hand was shaking now, quivering like a frightened bird in winter air as Blaine watched the small ring with his mouth half-open with something half-said. Kurt could feel the tears rim his eyes like shackles, pulling his lashes down. But he bit the inside of his lip, trying to stall himself. He couldn't let himself cry this time. If Blaine could leave him so quickly, then Kurt could abandon him just as easily. But it wasn't easy. It was unforgivingly difficult and Kurt felt like he was made of something impossibly fragile. Blaine's eyes looked like stained-glass windows, with all the candles blown out within empty walls. Kurt felt a chill go down his spine, so familiar and so unfair at the same time. Blaine looked like the teenager sitting in a booth, being told his boyfriend was leaving for New York in a week. But this was so much worse this time. It was unbearable looking Blaine in the face as Kurt handed back something so precious and so very, very important. A part of him screamed to put it back on.<p>

'I c-can't,' Blaine finally croaked. Kurt felt something inside him break. But he struggled to hold everything together. He could do this. If Blaine could quit, so could he.

'No. Take it. Go on,' Kurt said as sharply as he could, flicking his wrist ever so slightly to, if it were possible, create more distance between himself and the ring. It felt blisteringly warm in his fingers which were still tinted pink from the cold outside. Blaine looked so small in his over-whelming black coat. Kurt used to joke, call Blaine his little "bear" it dwarfed him so. But there was no laughter now. Blaine looked up from the ring, a look of despair on his face. One Kurt hadn't seen before. It shook him and Kurt felt his arm drop slightly.

'Kurt.' God, his name sounded so different coming from Blaine's lips. Kurt found himself unable to look away from the brown wood of his eyes, burning and moving like umber fire. Blaine looked at Kurt again and Kurt looked as melting snow drops pulled his dark curls free from gel. His slacks looked almost black with damp. He looked freezing. The ring was still warm in Kurt's fingers. Blaine let go of the latch and turned to look at Kurt fully. He had his right hand raised like a shield. Kurt tried not to look at the hand that had struck him. But it was also the the hand wearing his ring's partner, it was the hand that held the back of his neck when Blaine kissed him, the hand Kurt held with Blaine's body hot against his back in fading hours of nights that seemed like they belonged to someone else.

'I can't take that from you, Kurt.'

'Why not?' Kurt asked crisply like frost. Blaine's eyes searched his face and Kurt watched the brown of his eyes melt like brass. When he spoke, his voice was as true as it had ever been;

'I gave you that ring bec-'

'Then take it back!' Kurt retorted, his voice losing it's edge in a thick emotion he tried to swallow whole. The apartment was shifting around them like sand as the snow fell outside, a wind whistling and traffic growling. Everything loose and absent. Kurt felt his heart clench in his chest in a cold grip. He thrust his ring out again, unable to stop himself from thinking of everything Blaine did that had hurt him. Not just the strike, but the distrust and the _anger._

Kurt felt the hurt ripple through him in tortured strings. Blaine had been so angry that night. And he had Kurt so scared. So unbelievably scared. Blaine never lost his cool. Not Blaine Anderson. Ever perfect, ever calm Blaine. Dalton poster-boy, NYU prodigy on to get his Masters. Kurt thought helplessly of the day Blaine received his first BA. The memory was tainted purple like bruised skin. Kurt almost winced as he remembered the sound of breaking china and Blaine's face in a dazzling kitchen. The shackles on his eyes tightened and Kurt yielded. Holding them shut with chains, Kurt felt tears spread like webs between his eyelashes.

'Please just take it, Blaine,' he choked, the words cracked at the edges. He heard Blaine move, but Kurt couldn't look at him. Not now. Not with everything so present and so agonizing inside him like scalding water. Kurt turned his cheek into himself, a ghost of fear pouring over him in the memory of rain. 'I-I can't keep it. And I just... I just can't forgive you.'

Everything stopped at the words.

The snow was hanging like Christmas baubles in the air, cars stuck in traffic silently and no air passed between the two men standing in a freezing apartment. Kurt opened his eyes and forced himself to look at Blaine. He looked nothing like Kurt had ever seen before. He had never seen Blaine so... hurt before. Something rallied against Kurt's anger and upset, but he tried to ignore it. But Blaine was so close. Blaine's hand had fallen slightly and reminded Kurt of a wilting flower, petals spilling all over the floor.

Time started moving again. Blaine took a few small steps forward and Kurt wanted nothing more than to press hiss hands against Blaine's navy chest and push. Push Blaine out the door and slam it behind him. But Kurt found himself frozen. His hand was still shaking and he could feel his grip on his gloves loosen. Blaine's eyes were deep and swirling like storm clouds and Kurt found himself unable to look anywhere. He watched rain fall on the face of the man he loved and Kurt found himself suffocating.

Blaine reached out and enclosed Kurt's whole out-stretched fist in his hand. His skin was like pure energy against Kurt's. Kurt could feel goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold shiver up his arm and down his whole body. Blaine's fingers were coarse from guitar strings and fights. But they were _Blaine's. _Kurt felt his bones shatter inside him and his arm collapsed. Blaine moved Kurt's hand, and the ring, to Kurt's chest and held it fast there. Lyrics to an old musical brushed against Kurt's mind, but the memory faded as fast as it came. Kurt could feel his heart pounding against the silver band, the words engraved on it leaving prints on his coat.

_Yours completely._

Blaine was too close. Kurt could smell the snow on his skin, the faded cologne from winter air. Blaine's other hand trailed up Kurt's arm, feather-light and dreamlike. Kurt felt his breathing become laboured beneath layers of expensive clothes. Blaine's skin was beyond anything Kurt had ever experienced, familiar and electric. He ran a stray thumb over Kurt's cheek and Kurt felt his mouth open on the contact. The hurt and betrayal he had felt was fading fast, forgotten thoughts that had grown too small. Too small in the wake of something far stronger and far more familiar. Kurt watched the colours in Blaine's eyes. Felt Blaine's hand so tender, cupping his face like he had the very first time...

Their lips met briefly and it was so sweet. Blaine's lips where chaste and chipped like wood from the cold New York, but Kurt felt the tears escape as they grazed his own. His heart swelled and something so much better than anything he could ever feel filled him. He barely registered his gloves falling to the ground. Kurt pressed a hand against Blaine's chest, terrified to hold on for fear of letting go.

But then it was over. Blaine was crying, too. Two clear tracks, like trains down sun-blushed lands. Blaine's eyes looked dark and his curls had fallen fully now, framing his face in a fragmented collection of blacks and dark browns. He smiled, his thick lips twitching up like puppet strings. Kurt felt his stomach drop. _Please don't, _he thought desperately. But he didn't dare voice it. Something worse than rejection plagued his thoughts as Kurt's thoughts ran to catch up with his heart. Blaine had left. Blaine didn't want him anymore. There was something else in Blaine's eyes, but Kurt's heart was too broken to dare hope. He ignored it.

Blaine rested his cushioned forehead against Kurt's. He was still shorter than Kurt, and his head fell a little lower, curls tickling Kurt's nose like they had for years. Kurt swallowed a sob that nearly choked him. Blaine's words were warm and tasted like lyrics and guitar cords;

'I wouldn't forgive me either,' he whispered like a song. Kurt felt his eyes flutter shut again, lost and yet so at home with Blaine's weight against him. His heart was cracking, splinters littering the floor. The tears were falling earnestly down Blaine's face now. 'But... I couldn't say goodbye this time without doing that.'

'Blaine,' Kurt moaned like a prayer.

Then he was gone. Blaine left Kurt's skin burning like singed paper. The ring was still clutched in Kurt's porcelain fist. Blaine stopped at the door, which opened in one final, tragic creak. Kurt took a step forward, but Blaine caught his gaze and he stopped. Blaine was trying to say something. Kurt knew Blaine too well, each curve and fall of his face measured meticulously by Kurt's careful fingers over years and years love. Kurt tried to read the words under all the emotion. But it was like spilled ink on parchment.

'Keep the ring, Kurt,' Blaine said softly, his voice making Kurt think of pillows and mornings spent in bed. 'You deserve at least that much.'

The door closed with a snap and Kurt was alone. Again. Kurt stood frozen, the laminate floor seeming to sway beneath him, the floorboards warping and bending. Kurt's heart was beating in his ears, deafening him. The ring Blaine had given him so long ago was pressed like a scar on his palm. It had suddenly lost all of it's heat. But the words were still there, tattooed onto the metal like silver skin. Blaine had left him- again.

No.

Then everything was a rush of colour and sound. The front door slammed like a gunshot and Kurt's tall boots made a heavy _thump _as they hit the carpeted hallway. Bypassing the elevator, Kurt bolted down the empty corridor of the apartment before flinging open the door to the stair-well, slipping and tripping over snowy footprints on the hard surface of the stairs. Kurt's heart was going to burst, he was sure. He had never run like his before. But he had never had a reason. And Blaine- Blaine was a good reason. _He needed him. _Kurt burst through the door to the foyer like a damn cracking under the weight of water. Blaine wasn't there. Clutching his heaving chest from running down three flights of stairs, Kurt took the last few laps to the doors.

The air was cold and hit Kurt like he had fallen off the pier into the deep end of the ocean. Bombarded with waves of chilled air on all sides. Drowning him in millions of leaves made from water. The snow had enveloped the whole world in white like a curtain and was falling so thickly Kurt had to stop and adjust. Brooklyn looked strange and unreal in the new light and cars moved like monsters through fog. Kurt looked around wildly, before he saw the retreating figure a small ways down the side-walk, hair twisting in a bitter wind.

Kurt ran.

Nearly falling twice on shining ice, Kurt reached out with all his strength and grabbed Blaine by the shoulder. Blaine turned on the spot and stumbled on the icy concrete. But Kurt held him sternly, his arms tight around the other man's shoulders. Blaine's bewildered eyes were framed in snowflakes caught in his thick lashes and found Kurt's like they always did. Like they always should. Kurt's hand were already wet and a vivid red from the snow and Blaine's face was tinted with surprise and cold. Kurt let breaths out in sheets of billowing, white silk falling to the ground, where they pooled like abandoned bed-sheets on the floor.

_'Kurt,' _Blaine breathed whitely. Kurt caught the name on his cheek like a kiss. His fist still clasped around their promise, Kurt felt himself put all his weight on Blaine's shoulders. Blaine's arms wrapped around Kurt's waist like a thick belt, tied by something iron tight and stong behind Kurt's back. They had fallen apart at the seams to each other- Blaine's body was extremely cold and Kurt's hair was after falling from any sort of grace with the weight of snow and water. Cars made crushing noises on ice and trees rattled like tin cans around them. They were so far away from the sunny asphalt of Ohio's school-grounds.

Blaine looked like he was about to speak, but Kurt stopped him, catching the words on his tongue in a kiss. Ghosting Blaine, Kurt used his free hand to cup the older man's face. Kurt held Blaine to him like a life-line. This time it was more intense. More urgent. Kurt easily overcame Blaine for dominance and their lips felt chilled from the exposure. But Kurt poured every ounce of himself into that kiss. He drained himself dry and felt tears turn to frost on his cheeks. He tried to write the words on Blaine's tongue. How much he loved Blaine, how sorry he was, how angry he still was. How he still hadn't forgiven Blaine, but how Kurt would do _anything _to retrieve what they used to have. He would not let this be a kiss goodbye.

Blaine was alive and kissed Kurt back with a truth and desperation Kurt had never experienced before. It tasted sweet and bitter at the same time and Kurt could feel Blaine's tears too hot against his skin. The world was swirling around them like sand at the bottom of the ocean. But nothing mattered. How could anything else matter?

Kurt pulled away breathless, the sheets falling again. Blaine was resting against his forehead again, tickling curls and all. Kurt felt the corners of his mouth turn up like flowers to the sun. Blaine was breathing all over Kurt like water and he was holding him so tightly that Kurt felt winded and full at the same time. He could almost feel Blaine's heartbeat beating against his chest under all the hurt and heavy clothes. Kurt pressed his fingertips into Blaine's face, pulling him as close as he could. The ring was sure to leave a mark, his fist was clenched so tight.

'Come home with me,' Kurt said, the words getting lost in a flurry of snowflakes. Blaine's response was a warm breath and Kurt held it close.

'Always.'

* * *

><p><em>Trying to hold it together.<br>_Keep my love as light as a feather_.  
>Sad eyes, baby, it's been such a long time.<br>_Keep my heart breaking in the dark.  
><em>Come and spend the night.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>So my dear readers, dare you hope? This chapter used to have a second half, but I thought I might leave it here instead. It just fit better.<br>~ATGNT**


	11. Leave Me Out With The Waste

**It's still not snowing in Ireland. Or at least where I am. It sucks. I want snow.**

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><p><em>If somebody knew...<br>_It's a small crime.  
><em>And I got no excuse.<em>

* * *

><p>The sun was streaming in through the window in cracked and shifting blades, snowflakes and clouds criss-crossing like string behind the glass. Blaine watched the sky move in greys and whites from the bed, the weight of Kurt reassuringly breathing against his chest. Kurt was curled into Blaine's side, his fingers caught up in the farbic of Blaine's shirt. A tangle of cotton and skin. His ring was glimmering in the morning light and Blaine found himself watching Kurt's face, absent and calm in the thrall of sleep. But his eyelashes were quivering delicately and Blaine knew he was dreaming. He watched Kurt dream a thousand nights before.<p>

Blaine knew their coats were still in the hall in a crumpled heap, having been shed the moment they entered the door, frost-bitten and damp. The memory was still fresh and Blaine could smell the snow on Kurt's skin. They had kissed until all the breath had left them, lungs squeezed and hearts pounding, before falling into bed, still dressed and wet. Kurt had slid the ring back onto his finger and rested himself on Blaine's shoulder, mumbling stories of old teachers and the names of school-books, asking Blaine if he recalled them. Blaine couldn't remember falling asleep, but he could still hear Kurt's hesitant voice and the unspoken agreement between them. They would talk tomorrow.

It was tomorrow.

His expensive shirt and grey jeans creased from sleep and snow, Kurt rolled onto his other side, leaving Blaine feeling strangely without. He had slept for so long without Kurt's body against him that he didn't want to let go, not even for a second. But Blaine took his chance, and rose from the bed carefully. Leaning over to give Kurt a brief kiss on the head, Blaine left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It was so early that the weak sun barely lit the lounge, leaving the hallway in semi-darkness.

The apartment was cool and filled with the sounds of a Brooklyn morning. Cars squeaked and trees swayed outside and Blaine stretched in the hallway with two abadoned coats for company. His heart was swelling in his chest and although his stomach still weighed him with guilt and anger, Blaine for the first time in a while felt strangely hopeful. Smiling inspite of himself, Blaine headed to the kitchen to start making coffee. The red light on the answering machine was flickering like a cyclops' eye. A monster watching from the dark.

Furrowing his brow, Blaine walked foreward, his socks muffled on the floor. He pressed the plastic of the machine and the voice spoke, every word turning the air in Blaine's lungs to lead, weighing him down like anchors in the sea.

_'Hey, Kurt. It's me. I tried calling your cell, but you're not answering. I guess our date's cancelled. I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. I want to make sure you're alright.'_

Jasper.

The effect was startling. Something more hideous and dangerous rose it's ugly head within Blaine, growling fiercely. In all that had happened, Blaine had forgotten. Forgotten what Kurt had abadoned to be with him instead. That thought eased the tightness in his chest, but still the heavy monster lurked low in his stomach, sharp teeth and claws pulling painfully. Blaine had never been much of a jealous person; Kurt had always been the one to bitch and squeeze Blaine's hand possessively. But something about Jasper just pushed all the wrong buttons. Jasper was- different. Different to strangers in bars and friends at bus-stops. Jasper wanted Kurt. Truly, completely wanted him. Shaking slightly, Blaine deleted the message.

Feeling the old poison pump through him, Blaine made the decision. Opening the closet and pulling out a spare pair of shoes, Blaine slid them on and retrieved a coat from the floor. Pausing briefly to pull out a piece of paper and a pen from the drawer in the hall-table, Blaine left the note by the phone and bustled out of the apartment in a flurry of damp sleeves and burning thoughts.

_Gone to get you some breakfast. Back soon xx _

He left his phone.

* * *

><p><em>This is not what I do.<em>  
>It's the wrong kind of place to be-<br>_Cheating on you._

* * *

><p>The cold outside hit him squarely in the chest and Blaine felt temporarily winded. He had grabbed Kurt's coat and it closed a little tighter than his own. But he had left his cardigan on the bedroom floor by Kurt's shoes and now he felt its absence as the bitter December wind caught him. Swearing under his breath at the cold, Blaine continued down the street towards the subway. He only had an idea of where Jasper lived, Kurt had mentioned it so many times before and Blaine had been once or twice. But Blaine was willing to try anything to find this man. The man that was determined to ruin everything.<p>

The journey towards the Greenwood area passed in clatters of metal trains and snow. Blaine soon found himself standing on the street, gazing at the buildings around him as though by some twisted miracle Jasper would appear out of one of them. Wandering aimlessly through snow, Blaine headed towards a vaguely familiar red-brick apartment block. The building felt almost sinister in it's normality, and Blaine had to stop and catch his breath as the possibility of seeing Jasper almost over-whelmed him.

Suddenly, the doors of the block opened to reveal the slender form of a young woman with tight curls, catching snow like stars in her dark hair. She slid her hand-bag over her slim shoulder and caught Blaine's eye. Her mouth split into a wide smile, glossed-lips and white teeth.

'Blaine!' New Yorkers. Did they always have to be so loud?

Then warm arms were around him and Blaine felt stunned, but returned the embraced regardless. The memory of a party brushed over him, the taste of wine and the tune of old songs. Sally, or Sophie. Something beginning with "s". A member from Kurt's original class. She was working as a secretary somewhere. But, if he remembered correctly, she was also the room-mate. Jasper's room-mate.

'Hey,' he replied neutrally, stepping back and regarding her fully. 'How're you?'

'I'm fine,' Sally, (or Sophie), replied enthusiastically, her curls bouncing and snow making tracks on her coat. 'Haven't seen you in ages! How've you been? Don't think I've ever seen your hair gel-free before.'

'What?' Blaine ran a hand self-consciously through his loose curls, which were wet and dripping with snow. He hadn't even thought of styling his hair before he left. Sally's bright eyes watched him with a humour that did nothing to help Blaine's already trembling nerves. 'I guess I just forgot this morning.'

'Don't worry, suits you,' Sally beamed, pulling her coat tighter around herself as a particularly cold wind blew. 'Jesus, it's cold out. I thought you and Kurt would be gone by now for Christmas. Where you guys from again?'

'Ohio, and we're not entirely sure what we're doing yet,' Blaine found himself saying, the words made of nothing and blowing away in the wind. 'Kurt will probably want to go home though; to his family.'

'Well, if you guys are around, don't forget my Christmas party! Left Kurt a message, not sure if he got it. Anyway, what am I rambling about? You're probably here for Kurt's stuff, yeah?'

The snarling weight inside him turned to heavy ice and Blaine tried not to look too surprised by the information Sally had just revealed. 'Yeah, if that's okay.'

'Oh, sure!' Sally smiled, her dispostion most over-bearing and making Blaine feel uneasy. 'Jasper's up there. Lucky sucker's already on his Christmas holidays, so he's probably still in bed, while the rest of us mere mortals trudge onwards. I'll buzz you in there, just make sure to really knock! You know, Jasper. Could sleep through a wrecking ball.'

'Oh, I'll be sure to give the door a good beating,' Blaine replied, his attempt a humour falling heavy and making cracks in the pavement at their feet. Sally's smile faltered slightly at his tone, the sides of her mouth slipping like rain on windows, but Blaine merely forced a smile in reply.

Turning back towards the building, Sally let Blaine in and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, handing details about the Christmas party over like leaflets, before departing in the shifting streets. Blaine stood in the foyer for a long time, the floor shining and the apartment building lacking the certain level of care and money his and Kurt's did. But Blaine took this in with a sick satisfaction and walked over to the elevator, hands shaking and nerves buzzing like wasps.

Pressing for the second floor, Blaine tried to calm himself as the elevator rose. He tried not to think of Kurt, who was bound to be up by now. Blaine wondered if he would've read his note, if Kurt would try and call. But Blaine knew Kurt, and he knew that he probably wouldn't. Knowing Kurt, he'd probably wait, like he always had. Like he had waited for Blaine when they were teenagers. How he had waited for New York his whole life. How he still waited for Blaine, every day, every night. Kurt Hummel. The boy who waited. The boy Blaine disappointed nearly every time.

Blaine tried not to feel too sick with guilt, but the motion of the elevator and his heavy thoughts churned like paint.

Stepping out into the hallway, Blaine walked towards the numbered apartment that was listed as _Cooke-Gallagher _in the foyer's buzzer system. His heart was pounding in his ears and Blaine felt the strangest mixture of anger and fear. If he did this, Kurt may never forgive him for all that had happened. He'd accuse Blaine of not trusting him, of going behind his back. But Blaine's fear was being overcome by something much older and much stronger. His wrist moving with an emotion he was too scared to identify, Blaine knocked on the door firmly. The paint felt cheap on his knuckles and his ring caught the light, reminding Blaine painfully of the way Kurt's eyes had flashed _that night_. Light across water, with something much darker lurking the depths. He could just leave.

But he could hear someone moving behind the wood. There was no going back now.

Jasper revealed himself and it took all of Blaine's strength to keep his fists firmly at his sides. Jasper's verdant eyes narrowed like knives, regarding Blaine with un-masked dislike. Blaine wanted to spit in the man's face and let him know the feeling was completley mutual. Jasper leaned imposingly against the door- jamb, his tall form filling the doorway like a pyjama-clad photo in a frame. Blaine took deep breaths.

'What do you want, Dwaine?' Jasper spat rudely. Blaine tried to think of Kurt's face, a means of calming himself. But Jasper's eyes were bright and pointed.

'My name's _Blaine_,' Blaine replied coolly, trying to pretend Jasper wasn't having the effect he was. Jasper's mouth twitched, each muscle squealing in protest like a rusting machine. Blaine wasn't sure if he was trying to smile or hold words back, but all Blaine could think was how Jasper's teeth would look all over the floor. 'And we need to talk.'

'What about?' There it was again, that rudeness.

'Kurt, and what you're doing with him.'

There was no mistaking it now. Jasper was definitely smiling. Blaine clenched his fists again, nails sharp and ring heavy. Jasper looked into Blaines eyes and Blaine felt his stomach twist like string. There was a strange shadow in his eyes that made Blaine feel uneasy. Made him feel like he had come here with no shield and a blunt sword.

'Whatever's going on is between me and Kurt, dwarf,' Jasper drawled, obviously eliciting some strange satisfaction from the words. Blaine brushed over the comment of his height and only felt the weight of Jasper's meaning. He must've thought Kurt had broken up with Blaine. Blaine felt it was his turn to smile, but the action seemed too great a demand.

'He's my _boyfriend_,' Blaine countered, slamming the word between them where it made cracks in the door and bruises on Jaspers face. Something caught the green in Jasper's eyes and Blaine could feel the thunder swell between them, like it always had. The static was building and Blaine wondered who would get struck first. Jasper stood up a little straighter, looking down at Blaine and for the first time ever, Blaine truly wished he were taller.

'You hit him. You don't hit your boyfriend, ever,' Jasper said lowly, the words trailing across the carpet like clouds over mountains. Blaine felt the cut of them hit bone. Blaine ran an absent hand through his curls, surprising himself once again as he had forgotten they were loose. 'Besides, last I heard, you weren't exactly "shacking up".'

The words clumsily ricocheted and burrowed into the walls. Blaine almost winced from the crude phrase and rallied almost instantly; 'Kurt and I are together. And not that it's _any _of your business, but I'm home. With Kurt.'

Jasper's whole face darkened and Blaine saw his fists clench. For one, loud moment, Blaine actually thought Jasper would hit him. But instead the taller man held fast to the door-jamb, his knuckles frosted over in white and nails pink. Jasper looked Blaine up and down and Blaine saw him recognise the coat in withering grass-coloured eyes. The gun cocked between them and Blaine waited for the shot.

'You shouldn't be fucking with his head like this,' Jasper said in a quiet voice that radiated emotion. Blaine nearly hit him at the injustice of the statement, but managed to stop himself. Jasper looked unfazed from the would've been attack. The monster roared in Blaine's stomach and stained his hands white as he tightened his fists to the point where they hurt. Anger shook through him like marbles down stairs.

'I think you're confused,' Blaine replied stonily. 'If anyone's screwing with Kurt's head, it's _you_.'

'You think so? I'm not the one who hit him and comes back weeks later to _fuck _him!' Jasper shouted, the words bouncing off the walls in clumsy shots, making holes in plaster. Flinching from the curse, Blaine felt the claws burn inside him and his breathing catch like fish in nets. Jasper's eyes flitted down at Blaine's quivering fists. He looked at Blaine with nothing short of pure contempt, words dripping poison. 'And now you've come here to what? Give me a good go-round, too?'

'Shut up,' Blaine snapped like wood. Jasper looked slightly taken-aback by the level of anger in Blaine's voice. 'I haven't come here for anything but to tell you to _back off.'_

'It's not up to you who Kurt chooses to be with,' Jasper countered at once, clanking like metal against Blaine's words. Monster claws and teeth tore at Blaine from the inside and the desire to lash out almost over-came him. But the thought of Kurt was like rope; tied in knots around Blaine's fingers and holding him steady. 'He was telling me all about how you dumped him the other day. And he seemed more than willing for the chance to come out with me when I asked him. Now he didn't have to feel guilty about it.'

'And what's that supposed to mean?' But Blaine said it too soon. He was so sure he didn't want to know. Jasper paused, something hovering on his tongue and Blaine wasn't sure if he wanted it said.

'It means, Kurt's too good for you,' Jasper said harshly, hands punching the wood of the door. But Blaine could feel it in the words; they weren't what Jasper was originally going to say. Blaine felt the ground shake beneath him. Something moved in Jasper's eyes, prowling in the shifting of green; a dark thought watching Blaine through trees. They were getting closer. 'And if you had any ounce of decency, you'd just pack your bags and leave for good and let Kurt be with who he really wants.'

'And that'd be you, would it?' Blaine jabbed cruelly, relishing the hurt in Jasper's eyes like falling leaves. 'Listen, Kurt is entitled to be friends with whoever he wants. And believe me, you're not the first to think themselves "special" in his eyes. But I will not say it again; you need to accept that Kurt does not want you. Be friends wih him all you like, but remember your place.'

Jasper seemed to be breathing in and out something heavy that made the air thick. Blaine could hear the words swelling like a tide in stormy weather. The bullet-holes in the walls spilled plaster like blood between them and words were shattered like glass in the carpet. Lightening flashed and Jasper fired the final shot.

'I don't like you,' Jasper said, his voice shaking like grass in wind. 'But if anyone needs to wake up and face something it's you. You need to look at the facts.'

'Enlighten me,' Blaine retorted coldly.

'You need to realise that Kurt doesn't love you as much as you think he does,' Jasper said, and for the first time, looking a little nervous. His eyes darted away and back to Blaines. Blaine felt the uneasy sway beneath him again. Blaine scoffed sourly.

'And how would you even know?' But there it was again. Swirling in Blaine. That uneasiness. Jasper watched Blaine and something clicked into place.

'The week Kurt was here... Kurt and I slept together.'

The gunshot was loud. Blaine could feel his chest being torn open by an unbelievable pain, an unbearable force tearing skin and bone like paper. Blood spilled all over his shoes. Smoke rose from the barrel and twisted greyly in front of Jasper's face. Blaine felt the rope fall away and his hands hung loose. Something so much more painful than guilt, or grief, punctured Blaine's stomach and killed anything living there. Nothing remained but dead weight. A hurt like Blaine had never experienced before. It was ice cold and left frost, blood freezing crimson on the floor.

'You're lying,' Blaine whispered, but all the bitterness had left him. The words sounded empty and desperate. Jasper looked like someone caught in the crossfire of anger, pleasure and pity. Blaine couldn't decide which he hated the most.

'Goodbye, Blaine.'

The door closed softly and Blaine was left alone, wounded and bleeding. Blaine felt the tears sting and for a long time, he couldn't move. The numbness was freezing cold inside him and Blaine felt drained of anything that mattered. He couldn't bear to think of Kurt. When he finally had the strength to leave, the world outside had shifted. The snow seemed colder. The streets seemed emptier. And Kurt seemed so much further away.

* * *

><p><em>And is that alright?<br>_Give my gun away when it's loaded.  
><em>Is that alright, with you?<br>_If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it?

* * *

><p><strong>Come on, you didn't think I'd make it easy, did you? But what do you think- is Jasper lying? Or should Blaine believe him?<br>****~ATGNT**


	12. Who's Gonna Fall Down At Your Feet?

**I hope you had a very happy Christmas and a good New Years! Extra long chapter as it's been so long.**

**Here's my question for you today-  
><strong>**If the person you loved betrayed you, forgive them? Maybe. But would you still love them?**

* * *

><p><em>Who's gonna pick you up?<br>_Who's gonna bend your rules?  
><em>Who's gonna be your prop?<br>_Who's gonna play your fool?

* * *

><p>Kurt opened his eyes slowly. The bed felt lighter. Reaching out behind him, Kurt felt for the warm presence of Blaine. His fingers caught air like smoke. Turning to his side, Kurt watched the side of the bed, sheets crumpled and still hugging the shape of a person who seemed long gone. Kurt was breathless; all given away like parcels the night before in frosty kisses and now he lay in bed suffocating. Kurt felt like spiders were weaving webs between his ribs, choking him with tight tendrils. The grief from before opened like an old wound and stung, heavy and winding. Blaine was gone.<p>

Tears threatening to fall like snow, Kurt rubbed his eyes roughly, skin grazing like knees on pavement. Breathing shallowly, Kurt pushed himself out of bed. Baby steps. One at a time.

Kurt rose from the bed and shed his ruined clothes, dumping them into the laundry basket, fingers shaking and spider-webs tight. Kurt walked over to the wardrobe and opened the heavy doors, a squeak announcing their protest to being opened so early. The smell of Blaine fell out of the stale air and landed on Kurt in a pile of long-taken clothes. A memory. Kurt breathed in the smell of Blaine, a mix of coffee and banana. Kurt bit a sob on his lips. Ignoring the shirts hanging like ghosts, Kurt pushed past the shoes at the bottom of the closet, digging through leather and laces. He found the box under an old suitcase.

Kurt dared not to look too far down the rabbit hole as he opened the box, but the pull was strong. The smell of old cologne and paper reached out with warm fingers and Kurt almost relaxed into the old embrace. It was an old box; brown and a big. One they had used in moving house when Kurt was sixteen. Corners frayed grey and dust thick. Kurt reached into the past and withdrew an old, navy hoodie. For a moment, the fabric was enough, but something else caught his eye. Kurt took it and his fingers hit plastic like rain. Folding the box's lid over, Kurt replaced it in the bottom of the wardrobe.

For a long time, Kurt sat in Blaine's old Dalton hoodie and a pair of tartan pyjama pants. He couldn't even bring himself to style his hair. (All he could see was Blaine's reflection). The couch felt strange- Blaine had ruined the shape of the pillows from sleeping on them. His duvet was still folded up at the end by the arm-rest, cold sunlight falling like planks through the voile. Kurt couldn't bring himself to move it, his arms hardening like metal whenever he put his arms on the fabric. Kurt had been so sure, _so sure_, Blaine would come back that day. But then hours went by, then nights, days. Kurt didn't remember most of them, if he were honest. There were a few empty bottles of something strong in the recycling, lingering like an unwelcome guest, to prove it.

And now here he was again. Waiting for Blaine to come back, a practically empty bottle of Muscat waiting like a predator before a trap on the coffee table. Kurt had left it there nearly two nights ago now, and despite it's accompanying glass, even Kurt thought it was too early for a drink.

The clock read ten past eleven and cars were pushing and shoving like children outside. Kurt held the remote like a lover's hand- tight and hot fingers pressing into plastic flesh. The television simply watched him back, a staring contest of sorts. Kurt still wasn't sure if he was able to watch the DVD. It had been hiding underneath high-school memories and old Christmas presents for so long, he had almost forgotten. Almost.

Suddenly, the apartment split in two by the sound of the lock turning. Kurt jumped as his side of the room fell to the floor with a crack. Blaine stepped in through the door, a paper bag in one hand and a tray with two coffees in the other. Snow was weaved in his hair like stars on the turbulent night sky. He hadn't styled his hair either. Blaine's burnt eyes found Kurt's from across the home of two broken men. Something that felt frightening like fire sparked between them. Kurt leapt from the couch and ran for Blaine, his arms wrapping tight around his boyfriend's waist, fingers tied together like laces.

_'Blaine_,' Kurt murmured, (sighed), into Blaine's chest, feeling a heart-beat pound steadily against him and tears forming against his own will. Kurt felt like his heart was going to split at the seams, each stitch becoming undone and snapping as the weight of everything pulled at him.

Blaine hadn't left. Blaine had come back. Blaine was _home. _

But something felt wrong. Like the corners didn't match the space. Blaine made a strange movement- like he was going to hold onto Kurt back but had decided against it. Kurt felt the hurt hit him like a kick to the stomach. Pulling back, Kurt watched the way Blaine's eyes burned at the edges. Dark wood singed from a fire. They were not the eyes of the man Kurt had fallen into bed with the night before. Kurt didn't dare let go of him.

'Blaine, I...' Kurt tried, but his voice stopped as Blaine's lips twitched into a forced smile. What was Blaine trying to feign? Kurt held on tighter, holding Blaine so close it was uncomfortable. 'Where were you?'

'I left a note,' Blaine replied slowly, his eyes moving from Kurt's face to somewhere Kurt didn't care to look. Something wasn't right. Blaine still wasn't holding him, his hands outstretched like a scare-crow, bags and coffee hanging from him like hay. Kurt felt like he was losing a battle he couldn't fight. Something ice cold and sharp pulled at his chest, the sudden euphoria of seeing Blaine snuffed out like a candle in the dark.

'I thought you had...' Again, the words got stuck. They were just so big and so terrible that Kurt struggled getting them past his teeth. Blaine was looking at him again, his eyes moving across Kurt's face as if he was trying to read something. But the words were stuck in Kurt's throat, not written across his cheeks. Kurt tried again, resting his forehead against Blaines.

'I thought you had left me again.'

The words were so heavy. Everything about them, (Kurt and Blaine, Blaine and Kurt), was so heavy now that Kurt was sure they would soon break from the weight. Backs snapping and nerves cut. Neither of them feeling anything but the grief for what they could lose. What they had lost.

Suddenly, Blaine was smiling again. But it wasn't _Kurt's smile. _It was the Dalton smile. A smile Kurt had stopped believing in a long time ago. Teenage dreams put to bed many years ago in a dorm room Kurt had left the key to at a desk with no name. Blaine moved past Kurt and slipped through his fingers like water. Blaine was walking towards the kitchen and Kurt found himself unable to move. The kitchen.

Kurt's heart was spilling cotton and the torn strings were hanging like light-bulbs. Kurt did not want to go into the kitchen.

But Kurt followed- he would always follow Blaine. His hands brushed against the top of the hall-table. His fingers shook hands with paper and Kurt gathered the hastened post-it, vibrant yellow in a practically grey world. Kurt had always loved grey. (The potential for anything, a grey canvas. That's what he always used to say). Kurt recognised Blaine's untidy scrawl and felt something like regret pool inside him. He should've looked for it, but he didn't.

Looking too dark in the starched white of the kitchen, Blaine was standing at the island and withdrawing what appeared to be two bagels from the deli two blocks down from their apartment. He had them out on the old, granite battle-field almost like they were peace-offerings. Kurt stopped at the door-frame of the kitchen, scared to pass the threshold. Blaine crumpled the bag for the bagels and dumped it in the bin next to the door. Then he stopped and looked up, meeting Kurt's gaze once more. Again, Kurt saw something pulling at the edges of the eyes Kurt knew so well.

Kurt bit his lip, holding back a small smile as he regarded Blaine fully. He was afraid to smile. Scared that whatever they had now was so fragile that anything that broke the silence would break them. But the words were out before Kurt could catch them between his teeth;

'Is that my coat?'

'What?' It appeared that while Blaine might've been watching Kurt, his mind had been racing elsewhere. He looked down, wet curls dripping onto the kitchen floor. 'Oh, right. Sorry, I just needed a jacket this morning and mine was- well...'

Kurt tilted his head, waiting. Blaine ran a nervous hand through his snow caked hair and Kurt wondered what he was nervous about.

'I guess I just wanted something to keep you close.'

Everything threatened to fall apart again at the statement and Kurt's fingers reached out, seeking their partners. Blaines hand danced circles with Kurt to a song they probably couldn't remember, but Kurt felt something swell within him, a thick, moving emotion, pumping through his veins. An emotion so big it couldn't really be named as it made the world around Kurt swerve except for Blaine, his centre. The same emotion he always felt when with Blaine. When he was close to Blaine. A cocktail of everything they were. The unbelievable want for Blaine, the sheer devotion Kurt had for him, the absolute _need _between them.

But something wasn't fitting. Something didn't feel right.

Blaine gave Kurts hand a squeeze before moving away, leaving Kurt in the inbetween of the kitchen with its memories, and the lounge with its wine. Kurt pulled self-consciously at the ends of the Dalton hoodie. It still smelt of Blaine, who had either not recognised it or ignored it. Finally, Kurt took a deep breath and crossed into the kitchen. He leaned heavily on his palms, the granite of the island cool and black beneath his skin. Blaine stood across from him, the island standing like a shield between them. Where had all this space come from?

There had been no space last night. Only skin and tongues.

Blaine took off Kurt's jacket and laid it across the island like a body. Kurt felt whatever was holding him back weigh the air down and his heartbeat quickened beneath dusty ribs. Blaine looked strange. His curls were free and scattered in snow-heavy disarray, and the t-shirt he was wearing was crinkled from sleep and Kurt's fingers. His arms were toned and dark in the morning light, trickling in from the kitchen-window. The blazer-clad seventeen year old was all grown up now.

'Kurt,' Blaine said and Kurt wished he wouldn't say his name _like that_. 'We need to talk. There's... so much we need to talk about.'

Kurt nodded slowly, feeling his hair tickle his ears. Kurt always forgot how long it was when it wasn't held up. Kurt felt himself biting his lip again. He should kick that habit; it was bad enough having chapped lips from the frost, never mind knawing at them.

'Where do we start?' Kurt asked softly, handing out words like invitations, trying to get Blaine to look at him again. But Blaine's dark eyes still watched the steam rise from the coffees. A flash of teeth. Light catching brown eyes. Blaine let out a breathy laugh, disillusioned and strange.

'I have no idea,' he admitted, and Kurt felt something darker lurk beneath the statement. But in a blink, it was gone. Blaine still wasn't looking at him. Blaine ran his hands through his hair again. Kurt wondered what he was trying to hold on to. 'I just need you to know something, Kurt.'

'What?' Kurt asked immediately. Eagerly. Blaine looked up and caught Kurt's gaze like a butterfly in a net.

'I love you,' Blaine said. Kurt felt his heart stop, the way it hadn't in so long because it had been _so long _since Blaine had said it like that. There was something final to it though, and Kurt felt the cold fingers of fear hold tight to his ankles, threatening to pull him under. Blaine was giving Kurt a look. One filled with something Blaine wanted to say. Kurt tried to read the words. 'I need you to know that. I really, really love you, Kurt.'

'I know,' Kurt breathed.

Blaine broke as Kurt repeated the same response he always gave.

He could never say it back. And now Kurt opened his mouth, but found his throat dry of words. The right answer just seemed lost somewhere. Kurt had forgotten how to find it. Blaine stood across from him, waiting for Kurt to say it. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, Kurt bit his lip and Blaine took something from the motion that made Kurt's blood go cold.

It wasn't like Kurt didn't love Blaine. Because he did. More than anything. _Anything. _But he just couldn't say it. There had been something terrible growing between them for so long and Kurt had felt stranded from Blaine ever since October.

October.

When Jasper had told Kurt. Told Kurt that he, Jasper Gallagher, a stranger met in a class, loved him. Jasper told Kurt that he loved him. And ever since that night, everything fell apart. Kurt hadn't even known Jasper was gay, and suddenly he was asking Kurt for a chance. A chance? How could Kurt offer him a chance? Everything he thought he knew about this person was suddenly irrelevant. Blaine had seemed to always assume Jasper was gay- Kurt and Blaine never discussed who Jasper was interested in.

Until Jasper was interested in Kurt.

Kurt had only ever had Blaine. Blaine was the first out-gay kid Kurt had met. Blaine was the first friend he could ever truly talk about how he was feeling. Blaine was the first person Kurt had ever fallen in love with. He was the first person to ever tell Kurt that they had fallen in love with him, too. But now? Now, for the first time, someone else had expressed the same sentiment. Said the words Kurt had only ever saved for Blaine.

Kurt had been terrified and he had ran. He still remembered coming home that night, shaking and immersed in thought. He remember spinning some cryptic nonsense to Blaine he couldn't recall now. He remembered ignoring all of Jaspers calls and texts, and choosing simply to ignore the problem and lose himself in Blaine instead. Blaine. His boyfriend. But ever since that night, Kurt found it harder and harder to say he loved Blaine.

Kurt had obviously led Jasper on somehow. Been too friendly, or perhaps even overly flirtatious. (Kurt would always be the first to admit he was a sucker for a good pick-up line). Kurt had obliviously caused this man to fall in love with him, and now he felt like he had betrayed something so much more sacred than he could've known. And everytime those three little words fell from Blaine's lips like leaves from trees, Kurt would be reminded of how he had inadvertantly betrayed Blaine. The fear of losing Blaine, of what Blaine would think kept Kurt's mouth shut with a button. Kurt found himself replying in a manner that made him feel better. He always said he knew.

Because as long as Kurt knew Blaine loved him, then Kurt could never love anyone else. But then everything started to go wrong.

Jasper wasn't out yet. Kurt was the first person he had told... ever. Kurt wasn't sure how to bear that sudden weight. The sudden responsibility of being the first told and the first love. But a twisted sense of sympathy and recognition kept Kurt close to Jasper. How could Kurt just abandon his friend now? Especially when Kurt was _so important._ Jasper had made Kurt swear not to share with anyone, especially Blaine. Kurt had tried to protest, claiming how much he trusted Blaine. But Jasper had just thrown back what Kurt had confided in him over the weeks like blunt bullets;

_'I distinctly remember you telling me about high-school! What about that Sebastian guy?'_

_'You can't even trust this guy to give up an extra hours study to be home in time for dinner. What makes you think I'm going to trust him with this?'_

So Kurt had said nothing. Because in the end, Jasper was the one in the closet and Kurt knew above anyone else that he had no right to out Jasper to anyone Jasper didn't want told, regardless if Blaine had deduced it for himself or not. But at what point did not telling Blaine become cheating? Because suddenly, everything unravelled. Spiralling thread and furious words thrown like arrows in a kitchen-battlefield. Kurt wasn't sure how so many apparantly harmless mistakes could suddenly lead to one, horrible blow-out.

Kurt just had to push too far.

_'You know what, Blaine. I am sick and tired of having this same argument with you over and over again! You want something to yell at? Fine! Staying with you seems to be achieving nothing but a loss, and I'd rather prefer to win one for a change!'_

_'Win what? Kurt, where are you going?' _

_'I'm going to Jaspers place. And you know what? I am going to sleep with him. He won't say no, we both know it, and I sure as Hell won't stop him. And you know what else, Blaine? I'll probably enjoy it. Because a good fuck from Jasper is exactly what I need. You want me for anything, give me a call tomorrow. Jaspers number is-'_

And then Blaine had hit him. Hard.

Those loud, angry words had finally been what had pushed Blaine over the edge. Because in the end, that's what it all came down to. Blaine had been struggling to achieve top honours for his Masters. Late nights, exhausted conversation and practically no sex. And then Kurt was whisked off into his own secrets- Jasper, a potential affair. An affair Kurt didn't want. Or at least, an affair Kurt knew would be wrong. But if Blaine was going to be so angry, and so absent, then why shouldn't Kurt just roll with it? And then each fight just became a test. An experiment Kurt used to retaliate. Pushing and pushing, wondering how far he could press before Blaine finally snapped.

But then he did snap, and all the games had ended with a purple bruise and words too sour to take back.

'Kurt,' Blaines voice sounded far away and Kurt fell back into the present with a painful lurch. Blaines eyes were closed and there was something terrible in that alone. Kurt felt his fingers crack like china cups falling. What was it Blaine didn't want to see? 'There's something I need to tell you.'

Kurt held his breath with tight fingers, frightened to let it go because it may be his last one. Blaine rested both his hands on the table and Kurt watched the morning move over Blaine's ring. A matching set. Silver, expensive. Both enscribed; one with "yours completely", the other "only yours". Blaine had produced them in an evening of summer rain and late sunsets almost three years ago. Two rings, two men. Two promises.

Kurt didn't like thinking about which promise got broken first, because a disgusting, guilty weight in his stomach told him the answer each time. And it was just so much easier to blame Blaine. But Kurt had made the first mistake. He had kept the first secret. It was carved into his heart with a blunt edge, a record of his crime. The affair that never happened. The love that shouldn't have happened. The hurt that did. But did any of that really matter now? They could work past it. Kurt could learn to stop being angry with Blaine. Learn to stop being angry with what had happened between them.

'This morning... I lied.'

Kurt furrowed his brow like ploughed fields, confused. 'What do you mean?'

'That note I left you, it was a lie. An excuse. I didn't go for breakfast,' Blaine continued, the words falling from his lips and landing on the island in a soft pile of letters. They _clinked _on the cool granite like glass. He still wouldn't look at Kurt. Something pulled in Kurt's stomach nervously and his fingers trembled.

'Then, what did you go for?' Kurt asked tenatively, almost afraid of the answer and looking at the coffees, waiting as if they would respond for Blaine.

Blaine looked up and something was cracked. Kurt felt a frighteningly over-whelming sense of fear pour into him, pulling with strange waves at his fingers. Blaine was angry about something. Kurt could see it. Kurt stepped back a bit, his cheek ghosting with a pain that had faded. Kurt found himself looking at Blaine's hands, but they were still splayed across the granite, sun-stained and hot. Blaine's eyes were shifting browns, burnt black from a searing emotion Kurt felt tense towards.

'I went to Jaspers. Just to talk but... He told me something- about you and the time you were there.'

The tiles beneath Kurt had turned to liquid and cold hands pulled him under, drowning him. Sand swirled at his feet and he could feel the absolute weight of the water. The question had left him in a dying breath, lungs filling and weighing him down. 'What did he telll you?'

'That you slept together.'

The words cut the air between them with a scissors edge. Kurt gasped and his eyes stung. Blaine was looking at Kurt with a perplexing mixture of anger and desperation. He almost looked like he was pleading for something- begging, almost. But the anger kept Kurt away. Kept the words tight. Kurt bit his lip and could almost taste blood he was holding with his teeth so hard, desperate to hold the answer back. Desperate to save this. Save them.

'Well?' Blaine asked, the word shaking but harsh. Kurt felt his gaze drop to the tiled floor, unable to look in Blaines eyes any further. The night before felt like a torn page; words scattered and kisses forgotton. How could Kurt have been so naive to think it would last? That it could possibly last. All they had left between them was this. Kurt let out a shuddering breath, still unable to look anywhere but the floor. Blaines words hit him anyway; 'Is it true?'

'You... you had no right,' Kurt breathed, eyes down. Something turned sour between them.

'What?'

'You had no right to go to Jaspers place. Why did you even go there?' Kurt asked, the question empty and frail. But there was a strange, guilty insult playing Kurts mind. Didn't Blaine trust him? But then Blaine was talking again and Kurt knew he had lost any chance of being trusted.

'You haven't answered the question, Kurt.'

Kurt looked up and caught Blaines eyes. He watched as the man he loved heard the truth. The first truth Kurt had revealed in a long time.

'I'm so sorry.'

Blaine crumpled completely as though made from sand, each grain of himself crumbling. Kurt's heart bent like paper. Then Blaine cried out suddenly and pushed away from the island, an emotion Kurt had seen only once before over-coming the man before him. Skin flashed against expensive cupboards as Blaine raised a hand with a furious sob and Kurt shouted out, eyes closing and body jumping back.

'_Blaine, please!'_

Kurt waited. Nothing.

The sound of breathing followed, heavy and uneven. Kurt opened his eyes slowly, taking in the sight of Blaine across from him, his hand hanging loosely by his side like a marionette's hand. Kurt's heart thundered in his chest, but something cold settled as he took in Blaine. His dark eyes were burnt out; there was nothing left in them to move the colours anymore. There was something tragic in the way he was standing. Blaine looked... wounded.

When he spoke, Kurt felt his heart break with the way the words blurred with tears; 'Y-you thought... You thought I was going to hit you.'

Kurt was still against the wall, skin plastered like paste. Blaines face screwed up like clay and tears smeared. Blaine raised his hands again, running them through his wet curls and spreading the tears across his cheeks. Kurt felt his own stinging eyes begin to leak like pipes. Kurt opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a strangled sob. Any excuse died in his throat, choking him. Because the answer to everything was "yes".

Blaine rested his hands on his hips and Kurt was reminded of a different fight, from a different time. But this wasn't about not having sex with Blaine in some parking lot. This fight was about having sex with someone who wasn't Blaine. And this time, Kurt was the one who hadn't been sober.

'God, Kurt,' Blaine choked, shaking his head and curls moving like trees. They were beginning to frizz now. The snow was drying out. Kurt still hadn't moved from the wall. 'How could you?'

Everything fell out of Kurt's mouth like bricks from a building.

'I- I can't remember,' Kurt whispered honestly. Blaines eyebrows tied together like string indignantly. Kurt closed his eyes and continued; 'That- that week, I just wanted to be as far away from you as possible. I was so... _I was scared of you, Blaine_.'

Kurt could hear Blaine's mouth open in a creaking sob. Kurt kept talking, eyes closed and voice moving between them like a cold wind, each word shaking like chimes;

'I ran to Jaspers because I didn't think I could take explaining to Finn, or anyone else yet. For Jasper, I wouldn't have to explain; he would never ask. So I just- oh, I don't know. I just ended up going out and drinking until it was really late, then crashing on his couch for a week. But then one night, I just drank too much and I was so upset and...'

Kurt stopped, trying to eat the thoughts before they could be said. But Blaines trembling voice pulled the words out like splinters; 'And what?'

'I can't even remember,' Kurt confessed again, tears beginning to fall a little faster and the pitch of his voice growing a little higher. 'I got so drunk and the next morning... I woke up with Jasper. I was just so upset about everything that had happened, and he was just there and... Blaine, you h-hit me. You _hit _me.'

Blaine made a strange noise, like a bitter laugh crossed with a startled sob. Kurt opened his eyes and watched Blaine turn on the spot, his dark eyes closing as though in pain. 'So that was your revenge on me, was it?'

Hurt hit Kurt like a hard punch to the chest, sending him reeling and leaning forward from the wall. Something bitter filled his mouth. They were fighting again. Would the war ever end? Kurt shook his head as he spoke, words almost whispered as disbelief at Blaine's cruel words threatened to over-whelm him. 'How could you think that? I didn't do it as a way of- I don't know, _picking _him over you! I was... I was just fragile.'

'Fragile? And how do you think _I _was feeling those weeks?' Blaine retorted bitterly, pointing to his own chest in earnest. Kurt held his lips in to stop them from shaking. Blaine ran his hands over his face, skin scratching and eyes tight. Kurt just wanted to take it back. But if it was one thing a bruise would teach you, it's that some things can't be taken back. 'You just ran off, like you always do. And I was left to decide where we go from here on my own. Do you have any idea how hard it was? To not go and look for you, but to just sit and wait?'

'Maybe now you know how it feels,' Kurt snapped sourly, thinking of the long nights and cancelled dates, and instantly regretting it. Blaine looked at Kurt with a distasteful disbelief, his lips parted like a gate. Kurt took a deep breath and moved his fingers across the smooth paint of the wall. Licking his lips, Kurt tried to bandage the wound. 'I didn't mean it like that. I just- I do understand how it feels. What do you think I've been doing for the last few months, Blaine?'

'Surely this is more of a question of who you were doing,' Blaine spat. Kurt gasped, a hurt twisting his stomach with an uncomfortably tight grip.

'How dare you..?' Kurt breathed angrily, his fists clenching, nails sharp.

'No, stop. Please stop,' Blaine said madly, waving a hand as though brushing Kurt's response away like smoke. 'What I did was unforgivable, I know that. But Kurt- how?' Blaine shook his head again, snow completely faded now. Kurt felt uneasy, his past anger fading. 'I'm so, so sorry, Kurt. I'm just... tired.'

The weight of that word. It was oh, so heavy between them.

'I know my studies were stressful, on both of us,' Blaine started, closing his eyes like feathers. Eyelashes dark and blurred against wooden skin. 'And I know I should've been there for you more. But I couldn't help but feel that you just didn't want me anymore. That you were just staying with me because you felt you had to.'

'That's not true,' Kurt whispered, the words light and floating in the dense air like balloons. Kurt watched tears roll down Blaines cheeks and drip like a tap from his chin. Everything hurt just so much.

'You were lying to me,' Blaine said quietly. Kurt didn't deny it; it was true. 'Lying about who you were with sometimes. About why you needed to go out. I could always tell. And to be honest, Kurt, I think the only reason you did is because you just don't seem to know what you want. And I am so tired of hanging around, waiting to see if it's going to be me.'

Kurt didn't want to admit it.

'Don't say that,' Kurt sobbed quietly, feeling like he would explode with the colliding emotions inside him. Hurt pulled and scratched at guilt like a struggling animal while furious insult was burning between them. 'That's not what it was.'

'Then what was it?' Blaine shouted suddenly, tears falling down his cheeks and his eyes shining with kitchen light. Kurts chest quivered with sobs, but he held his mouth shut stoically. He was not afraid of Blaine, nor he was afraid of what Blaine might do. Bruises fade, and Kurt knew that Blaine would never hit him again. It was something else that kept him steady. There was still something swelling in Blaine that pierced Kurt to the bone.

'What was it then, Kurt? If it's not about being with someone else, then why the Hell did you sleep with him?' Blaine was so loud sometimes. Kurt was sure he was making the world shake outside. Dust would fall from cracks in concrete and trees would tremble as the volume of Blaines hurt and words threatened to throw New York into the sea.

'Blaine, please,' Kurt begged, pushing off the wall and feeling like he was stepping off the side of a building. Kurt fell around the island, his hands knotting their way into Blaines t-shirt. Blaine stiffened and his eyes closed with shaking tears. Kurt ran anxious hands up and down Blaines chest.

'It was a stupid mistake. I was so... ashamed with myself after that I just ran. I didn't even stay to pack all my stuff, I just wanted to get away from him and find you.' It all fell from his lips in a fast, hurried breath. 'But I- I was just so scared of how you might react... It was nothing, Blaine. Please, don't cry anymore.'

Blaine sniffed thickly and his hands rose like flowers and took Kurts into calloused fingers, skin burning with an electricity that only Blaine could give. Kurt watched the colours of skin shift against each other. Olive palms and bleached fingers. Their rings kissed skin with reluctant lips. Kurt tried to swallow sobs silently as Blaine looked into Kurt's eyes. Kurt felt his blood ignite like petrol, every inch of him burning.

'Do you love him?'

'What?' Kurt didn't understand the question. Blaine searched Kurt's eyes like ships in a sea, desperately seeking safe passage through a storm. The thunder was rolling and they were both so tired from fighting. Kurt shook his head again, trying to shake the guilt and anger from him like dried leaves from dying trees. 'No. No, of course I don't.'

'God, Kurt,' Blaine whimpered, eyes closing and a sob unfurled. His hands were impossibly tight on Kurts. 'I can't do this.'

Kurts mouth fell open and everything tumbled from his lips like rain, words unsaid and sobs frozen. Blaine gave Kurts hands one, final squeeze before moving away. Kurts skin was sizzling with the heat Blaine had left behind, burned and sore. Kurt shook his head silently, reaching out and grabbing Blaines arm, holding him fast.

'Don't, Blaine... _please._'

Blaine just shifted his arm and Kurt's hand fell away, abandoned. Blaine vanished into the hallway. Kurt let out shaking breaths, standing frozen in the kitchen. Noises of New York filtered in and the air was thick with cold coffee and stale bagels, but Kurt could barely register them. He watched out the door as the December sun shifted through the lounge, climbing and falling over furniture and spilling shadows. Kurt hated this kitchen. The money he spent and the colours he had picked just meant nothing. His coat was still spread across granite, blue cotton spilled all over stone.

And the world fell away.

Kurt buried his face into his hands, over-whelmed and suddenly crying earnestly into cold fingers and engraved silver. His hair fell slightly and tickled skin, ghosting and reminding Kurt of the way Blaine's hair would feel under his fingertips. The sudden weight of everything, the guilt and the unforgiving _hurt_, felt black and poisonous inside of Kurt. His chest bounced with sobs and Kurt knew he'd have to moisturise for hours to correct the blemishes salty tears would leave. But he just couldn't stop.

After what must've been half an hour of hands moving and pacing, Kurt sniffed thickly and wiped his cheeks, the sleeve of Blaine's old hoodie stained. Kurt took a few deep breaths before stepping forward. Leaving the kitchen felt almost like Kurt was... admitting to something. Kurt wasn't sure what there was left to admit to. He had already confessed to the crime. Kurt took his time walking up to their bedroom, his feet growing cold on the laminate-wood and pyjamas shuffling. The door was open but Kurt couldn't hear anything. The air was empty but for passing cars and the odd horn from behind their walls. Blaine's coat and cardigan were missing from the hall-floor.

Kurt took the last few steps and felt his hands reach out, grasping at the door-jamb like a drowning man clutched at waves. His knees felt weak and he felt the tears threaten to spill again. Blaine was sitting on the bed, his hair styled properly now, hair sculpted, and his own coat buttoned up, black and big. He was fiddling with his cell-phone, the light flashing on and off as he locked and re-locked it. Kurt breathed shallowly, an unwelcome mixture of fear and bitterness swelling within him.

'Are you leaving?' Kurt asked before he could stop himself. Blaine closed his eyes, the cold sun of the winter morning poured over his shoulders like snow. The phone disappeared into the fabric of a pocket. The words that left Blaine were ice-cold and Kurt felt his lip quiver.

'Yes. I'm leaving.'

'Forever?'

Something interrupted them. A familiar buzzing echoed between them. Kurt ignored it. He didn't care who wanted to talk to him, or them, he wasn't letting them up. He couldn't bring himself to look anywhere else but at Blaine. He looked strange and dark in their bedroom, dressed and aloof with a wet face. Kurt wanted to reach out and hold him, kiss all the salt away from Blaine's cheeks and tell him how sorry he was. Tell Blaine that they had both fucked up, but he was willing to work to get back what they had. The buzzer still rang.

'I think that would be best,' Blaine finally said, his eyes still closed and his lips pulling strangely, like he was trying his best not to cry out from some pain Kurt couldn't see. Kurt whimpered pathetically from the door-way. Blaine suddenly stood up and looked at Kurt with hurt eyes, the light shining across them.

'Blaine, please. Don't do this,' Kurt cried softly, moving away from the door-frame and taking Blaine's lapels into his desperate fingers. 'What about last night? About everything we said, everything we did?'

'Last night was a mistake. I shouldn't have come home with you. I had made a decision about us, and I shouldn't have... We can't do this to ourselves, Kurt.'

'But why not?' Kurt exclaimed manically, tears falling again. His fingers winding and untying themselves in Blaine's clothes. His ring felt unbelievably heavy. 'Forget about Jasper, he doesn't matter. He never did, Blaine. I'm sorry! Please, _please don't do this to us_.'

'But it's not just about Jasper, is it, Kurt?' Blaine spoke, his eyes closed again and Kurt wished Blaine would just _look _at him. That he would at least be brave enough to look Kurt in the face if he was going to do this to them. Again. Kurt reached up and took Blaine's face into his hands. Blaine's jaw moved like water against Kurt's skin. 'I can't believe you would do something like... But it's not just about what you did- God, Kurt.'

Blaine was crying again now, too and Kurt held onto him even tighter. Everything just felt too much, hooking into Kurt from all sides and pulling him apart until every part of him tore away at the seams. The apartment felt too full with their spilling hurt and the noise of buzzers and traffic. Kurt felt like he was breathing lead. What did Blaine mean?

'I- I don't understand,' Kurt said, the words falling down between them in clumsy tears, making ripples on expensive flooring. Blaine opened his eyes and Kurt felt the tether that bound them tighten as finally Kurt could see the emotion in Blaine's eyes. It was bleeding between the jagged frissures of browns and golds. It looked churning and miserable. Kurt felt his heart pause in his chest, tears stop. Waiting.

'Last night you said something. And I should've listened to it.'

'Blaine?'

'Look me in the eye, Kurt, and tell me you forgive me for hitting you.' Blaine handed the words over like a blunt knife, as though expecting Kurt could just take them and use them. But Kurt couldn't use those words, couldn't feel anything but the edge of something that used to be sharp.

Kurt opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Blaine's eyes collapsed. All the webs between Kurts ribs tightened and pulled his ribs down like trees, lungs crumpling in and all the air falling out. Kurt tried to speak, but the words kept getting stuck, stuttering and damp with sobs. 'I... Blaine, don't...'

'You can't, can you?'

Kurt bit his lip again and Blaine nodded slowly, tears stumbling down his cheeks. Kurt felt the tears pull and scramble in the back of his throat, his head beginning to shake. Of all the things Blaine could've asked for, he asked for that. Kurt wanted to say it, he did more than anything. But he knew that if he told Blaine he had forgiven him, then it would mean nothing. Because Kurt hadn't forgiven him and Blaine wouldn't believe him. Kurt screwed up his face like scribbled paper and fell forwards, pulling at Blaine like a cat with string.

'I'm so sorry, Blaine,' Kurt sobbed stupidly, knowing that those words meant nothing between them now. Everyone was sorry and everyone promised. It's easy to be sorry, it's harder to stop being angry. And Kurt was still angry. Angry with Blaine for hitting him, angry at Blaine for leaving him. Furious that Blaine would give up on them, after Kurt had given everything to try and prove to him that they worth fighting for.

And Kurt was just_ so sick_ of fighting.

'So am I, Kurt,' Blaine whispered. He pulled Kurts hands off like plasters and left Kurt standing in the bedroom, alone and freezing. Kurt watched snow fall outside the window and listened to the shuffle of Blaines feet and the distant sound of something metal being left on wood. In a moment, Blaine was back. Kurt could feel him hovering in the doorway of the bedroom. 'I left my key on the hall-table.'

Kurt started crying again. That bastard. Holding his wrist to his face as some means of composure, Kurt sniffed through the wet and the stained skin; 'That's good of you.'

Blaine said nothing and for once, Kurt was glad. Fresh, pumping anger was searing hot under Kurts skin. Gasoline alight, burning everything. Blood boiled and muscles melted. Everything was just too much and Kurt was sure he would just die for the sheer pain of it. It all hurt so fucking much. Kurt sobbed clumsily into his hands, feeling full of something sickeningly hot and cruel. He felt like throwing up.

The sound of movement reminded Kurt of Blaines presence. Blaine murmured something Kurt didn't recognise and Kurt heard him turn and leave. Kurt listened to the sound of Blaine Anderson moving through their- his apartment like some dreaded ghost. Haunting the steps he used to take and mimicking the days he used to spend there. He would always kiss Kurt on the cheek and walk out that same front door. Kurt had never hated anything as much as he hated Blaine Anderson right now.

But he just couldn't let him go. Not now, not after everything. They had to be worth something.

'Blaine, wait!' Kurt cried out, trying to take as much air into his stuttering lungs, which were collapsing and falling like drunk feet. Kurt ran into the hall-way and caught Blaine just as he was about the close the front door. Blaine pushed the door open from his place in the corridor. The space between them felt like miles.

Kurt hated all this space.

From his place in the apartment, Kurt pleaded through an open door-way. 'Don't go. Please, let's just talk about this. We can't throw this away.' Kurt meant every word, every last letter he handed over to Blaine dripping with sincerity and truth.

'Kurt, please stop,' Blaine replied in a small voice. _Coward, _Kurt thought savagely, his anger and longing for Blaine turning tables in his stomach. 'I've made my decision-'

'What about me? Don't I get a say?' Kurt cried out, disregarding Blaines bullshit. Those words were made of nothing but Blaines own twisted sense of remorse. Kurt didn't care for such things. He just wanted Blaine to come back through the door and into their home. They could fix it. Surely they could fix it.

Tears were still falling down Blaines face and Kurt was torn with a desire to reach out and wipe them and the hurt that kept him restricted. No one ever told him it would be this hard. The hurt was unbelievable and Kurt was still so angry. Blaine was looking at Kurt with eyes shifting and Kurt felt his hands grieve the loss of Blaines fingers. Yes, Blaine had hit him. Yes, Kurt had cheated. But...

**'**I need you, Blaine,' Kurt whimpered, tears clogging his throat and pouring salt over his tongue, making the words heavy. 'I need you so much and please don't do this to us. And I'm sorry, about everything. But you better understand, that if you walk away now, don't bother coming back because I will never, _ever _forgive you if you do.'

For what felt like forever, Blaine and Kurt watched each other from across the door-way. The distance was stifling and Kurt dared to challenge it. He took one step from their infinite miles. It felt like nowhere near enough, but already Kurts hands were full, unable to carry more. Kurt held tight to the one step he had taken for their relationship and waited. Waited for Blaine to copy him, to show Kurt that Blaine was just as willing. That Blaine needed Kurt, too. Kurt waited, his heart pounding in his ears and his chest tight with spider-webs and Katy Perry songs.

Kurt would always wait for Blaine. He had waited this long for him, he could wait these few more moments.

'Blaine...'

Blaine looked Kurt straight in the eye and Kurt watched the browns harden like tree-bark. Shaking his head slowly, Blaine opened his mouth and everything unsaid fell from between his lips. Kurt watched the words fall to the floor and shatter like glasses. Kurt started to shake as realisation hit like a bullet. Blaines final shot in the battle that had torn their relationship to pieces.

Blaine said nothing but "I'm sorry" before turning and vanishing down the corridor. Kurt did not follow.

* * *

><p><em>Who's gonna be there at the end?<br>_Nobody knows just how it feels today.  
><em>Nobody sees our hearts break. <em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Nobody Sees" by Powderfinger may be the anthem to this story and I've been saving it for this chapter. Listen to it, it's a beautiful song.<strong>

**I know, you guys will probably hate me. But this needed to happen. This chapter is a pivotal moment for Kurt and Blaine, and all I ask is that you hold out. The ending really should be worth it.  
>~ATGNT <strong>


	13. It Will Never Come Back

**Try as I might, I'm still just a silly romantic.**

**It's not silly.**

**You take my breath away... I was so proud to be with you.**

**I hope so. I want you to be.**

* * *

><p><em>If I should be some kind of genius, I would find a solution for us.<em>_  
><em>It hasn't been worse than this._  
><em>_So sad, such a waste of time._

* * *

><p>It was cold.<p>

The door was still open and a cool draft was blowing through the door's absence. Kurt hands were raw and red from salty water and banging. He wasn't sure how long he had been there, kneeling on the floor like some penitent child in desperate prayer. He had hammered the floor with china hands, leaving them chipped and scratched. The tears hadn't stopped yet, and his chest ached from pressure and sobbing. Pushing himself away from the doorway, Kurt sat against the wall and gazed out into the empty hallway. Blaines ghost hung over him like a clocks pendulum, swinging in the air, invisible and haunting.

Kurt thought he'd come back.

Kurt thought Blaine would make it as far as the elevator before changing his mind. Hoped that Blaine would feel the ache Kurt had and come running back, take Kurt in his arms and apologise. Apologise for hitting him, apologise for leaving him. Apologise for giving up.

But Blaine wasn't coming back this time. He had left Kurt, again. Finally, truly.

Kurt was shaking. His fingers trembled and moved like leaves caught in a wind. The morning light, dimmed from apartment corners and time, brushed over the ring like a hesitant lover. Kurt felt the sting of tears bite and his mouth turn like metal. The layer of guilt was across him like a staining paint that Kurt just couldn't rub off. The pain was just... there. Present, un-ending. It was so bloody hard.

Knees curled like ribbons and tied bows to Kurt's chest. Folding paper, with nothing but lies and taunts scribbled across it in bleeding ink. Kurt sobbed into his pyjamas, lips moist and eyes taut. Every piece of him was strained to tear. Blaine had left him. Kurt had finally pushed him too far. Guess a good slap wasn't enough to show Kurt he had screwed up.

'_Coward_,_' _Kurt whispered through wet lips and cotton. Something sparked and a shout erupted like flames. A match to gasoline. In one desperate push, Kurt was up and leaning out of the doorway, a man waiting to take a fatal jump. Kurt screamed down the hallway, screamed at Blaine though he knew he was probably long gone. 'YOU'RE A COWARD!'

The words were ringing like bells through the apartment, echoing and stumbling over each other in a heap through the hallway, the whole of New York city. Waking all the ghosts.

'Nothing but a f-fucking coward,' Kurt choked, collapsing once more onto his knees. He could hear movement around him, the slight creak of doors and the stirring of neighbours. Nothing like a good show. New Yorkers love a show. And what's more entertaining, and justifying, than a cheating bastard getting what he deserves? That's Brooklyn justice for you; soiled sheets and a bruise.

Oh, God, Blaine.

Come back.

'Kurt?'

Kurt looked up and caught the moving woods and embers of Mercedes. Her dark eyes were shining like coals, burning with something Kurt couldn't identify. She seemed so incredibly tall from the floor. Her whole face seemed to crumple like dark silk, wrinkles and creases pronounced in the shattering morning light. The tears came again.

Mercedes bent down and picked Kurt up like he weighed nothing. Kurt sank into the warmth of her, drowned himself in the familiarity of her perfume and skin. She guided him back into the apartment and closed the door behind them, the _snap _sounding so painfully final. Blaine didn't have his key. And Kurt didn't have Blaine.

Time moved around them. Mercedes watched Kurt in the hallway of his apartment, her clothes bending light like twigs, snapping shadows. The leather of her jacket shone with movement as she took a few tenative steps forward. Kurt closed his eyes and turned away from her, arms moving around himself, trying to hold all the pieces together. He barely registered that she was speaking until the words reached him in the soft palm of her hand.

'I saw Blaine,' she said, her hand squeezing Kurts shoulder tightly, as though afraid that if she let go, Kurt would fall to the floor again. It was a justified fear. Kurt shook beneath her fingers, shying away from _his _name. 'I came by to check on you, and I met him at the door. He didn't say anything, just held the door open-'

'Well, you know Blaine. Ever the gentleman,' Kurt spat bitterly, the words sharp at the edges and sure to catch Mercedes with a cut. Kurt still couldn't bear to open his eyes and look at her. The apartment was filling with something. Mercedes forced Kurt around and tore his hands away, holding them in hers like a mother consoling a child.

'Kurt, babe. What's happened?'

The words were oh, so soft.

Kurt fell into them like a bed. Tears slipped past the meeting of skin, making tracks. Digging trenches into his skin. Marking all the wrongs. Kurt didn't notice he was rocking backwards and forwards until Mercedes caught him by the shoulders. 'Kurt, sweetie. You're shaking.' God, would she ever look at him again.

'He l-left,' Kurt sobbed. 'For good this time. That- that bastard just _left_.'

'Oh, Kurt,' Mercedes cooed sweetly, running a stray hand through Kurts knotted and limp hair with skilled fingers. Kurt flinched from the contact.

'It's all my fault,' Kurt whimpered. Everything was just so fucking heavy. Mercedes pulled Kurt against her and Kurt could hear her heartbeat. She rubbed his back the way his mother used to. She whispered things against his cheek, the words tempting and smooth. Kurt almost believed them. Kurt stopped her, pushing her away like stray smoke from a cigarette.

'Kurt?' Kurt ignored her and moved away from Mercedes. He walked into the lounge, feeling Mercedes gaze on his back, heavy and sharp. She'd leave holes in his jumper. Kurt clutched his own shoulders and stopped in the centre of the apartment. He watched the snow moved past the curtains like villains from pantomimes. Shapes and shadows, and so bitterly cold.

Kurt closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Then he told her everything. It poured past his lips like blood, leaving stains. Kurt felt his heart snap like plastic, frail and cheap. Sold out over and over until it lost all its value. The confession of sins parted with Kurt reluctantly. And it hurt.

* * *

><p><em>It never will come back again.<em>  
>If I should be some kind of coward...<br>'_I would turn my back on you?'_  
>That's just what a coward is supposed to do<p>

* * *

><p>The sky was the colour of milk, fresh and poured out over the top of the Ohio horizon. Kurt watched the heavy clouds mix and froth like cream as the promise of snow swelled. The glass of the window was frosted and shivering in a wind Kurt couldn't feel. Carole was moving behind him like a heavy ghost, dark in the pale light of the bedroom. Kurt adjusted himself on the window-sill, stiff from staring and watched as Carole leant over to view herself in the dresser mirror. The ruby of her necklace winked with a crimson eye and Kurt felt his throat crack like dry leaves. His finger was naked; all its armour had been stripped off.<p>

Kurt felt the absence.

'Do you think this necklace is alright with these earrings?' Carole asked, the question rolling off her shoulders and presenting itself to Kurt. Kurt regarded her back, and the reflected vision of her in the mirror facing him. He shrugged, unable to pin-point the exact point where the garnet gems of the earrings met the stained silver. Carole's light eyes narrowed like tight laces. 'Honey, you with me?'

Kurt blinked, a breath escaping from him in a rush. He hadn't even realised he'd been holding it. His lips twitched and what must've been a smile played across his lips like nervous birds. He caught the lie of it in the mirror. 'Of course. The earrings are fine, you look lovely.'

Carole ignored Kurt's pathetic answer. Kurt watched the new lines in her face cross with old ones, making patterns in wrinkled skin. It had been too long since he had last been home. As with Finn. But Finn was always moving, always somewhere new. Kurt had no excuse other than he wanted to stay in New York with Blaine. Never stop living the life they were so clearly _meant _to have. But the city that never slept was left abandoned. Kurt looked away from Carole and watched his hands. He was sure he had a burn in his palm from the key Blaine had left behind. It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, handing it over to Mercedes. But oh, it had hurt.

The space they had created so foolishly and indefinitely had left Kurt and Blaine spent and exhausted from all the hurt and the truth that maybe they had messed up too badly this time. It cried out inside Kurts chest like a war-cry. There was still a bitter bruise lurking beneath concealer. Kurt couldn't see it, but he could feel it. Jasper tried to call him, but Kurt had not answered one call or even tried to respond.

Mercedes had been upset, words spilling out of her like a tap and leaving Kurts feet wet with questions that had no answer other than; _'He left me, Mercedes. What else is there?' _But Mercedes did not accept that answer. She had been so angry at Kurt. She had been demanding why the Hell Kurt didn't run after Blaine and beg him to come back. Kurt hadn't answered that morning, but now something spiteful told himself that it was because he was too proud. Kurt was no victim, he would not grovel like he owed Blaine something.

Something true told him it was because he couldn't bear to run after Blaine, _again_.

Kurt had left that morning, shoving Blaines abandoned key into Mercedes' wooden hands, the metal burning with regret and betrayal. Kurt could almost smell smoke as it burnt holes in his fingers and left Mercedes with the ash of their relationship in her hands. Kurt had been so upset, he had said such awful things. Kurt had told Mercedes to mind their- his apartment. He told her he was sorry and then ran out the door, a suitcase packed with enough clothes to last him a month. A month that had long-since passed.

He had left the DVD in the player. But he bought more wine on the plane.

Kurt looked up and found himself back in his fathers bedroom. Carole was watching him with her pale eyes, faded-greens and dusty browns jumbled together like mown grass. Kurt swallowed and tried to speak, to break down the distance between him. But whatever had lived in his breath died before even reaching his lips. Suffocated by Kurts own hurt and unwillingness. Carole seemed to read his face like a map, her eyes travelling down Kurts blazer-clad arms and landing on the empty ring-finger. The imprint from the ring was still there. A line to mark the spot on the treasure map.

'What happened, Kurt?' Kurt let her question sink between them. It landed somewhere on the bed, making ripples in cotton and pillows.

'Blaine dumped me, simple as that,' Kurt replied coolly, retreating to the old mannerisms he should've long out-grown. But the stubborness of teenage apathy was a hard habit to shed.

Caroles head turned to its side and her dusty eyes seemed to see into him, rather than at him. The dust swirled and the contact made Kurt feel claustrophobic. Kurt closed his eyes and saw nothing but the redness of skin. The grief was too much to bear at moments like these. Like his own skin was too tight, and all the emotion was beginning to split him at the edges. Over-stuffed with snapped stitches.

'It's never that simple, Kurt. You gotta trust me on that one,' Carole said, the words warm and soft. Kurt almost let himself believe them, but that luxury was just too much of an ask and Kurt had already spent everything on wine.

'Perhaps not, but the outcome remains the same,' Kurt replied in the same, cool voice of his adolescence. Before Carole could speak again, Kurt stood up from his seat on the window-sill and straightened out his Westwood pants. Now if he could just stop staring at that God-damn finger. 'I better go check on Dad. I don't want him over-stretching himself to take down those lights.'

He had only made it to the door before she called him; a siren luring a sailor to dark waters.

'Kurt.'

Kurt paused half-way through the door, the wood cool beneath his fingers. He couldn't bear to turn around and face Carole. The house was dark and smelt of motor-oil and bread. The familiarity of home was stifling and Kurt wanted to lose himself in it and forget about New York and it's sky-scrapers. Kurt closed his eyes and let Carole speak softly across the room to him.

'I know you're hurting, honey. But you gotta let me at least try,' she said facelessly. Kurt let out a slow breath. His grip tightened on his wooden crutch, the grains moving like water beneath his skin. The guilt still hadn't shifted. Kurt still wore it like the chains of Marley's ghosts. He heard her move closer to him from behind, could almost imagine her reaching out. 'Whatever happened, just remember that we love you.'

God. Did Kurt have the crime tatooed across his face?

'I'm fine, Carole. Really,' Kurt said to the hallway, before moving swiftly from the room. Carole made a noise as though speaking out, but Kurt moved too fast and her voice was lost in the creaking landing of an old mechanics house.

Kurt moved through as silently as he could, trying not to rouse the old hauntings of his home. There was a distant rustle and _clink _from downstairs as Burt took down the Christmas lights from the living-room archway. Kurt stopped half-way down the protesting stairway. There was something strangely comforting about the noise. The reminder that life at home was still there. Dad was still there.

Letting out another shaking breath, Kurt felt his knees tire beneath the weight of himself. Clutching to the banister, Kurt sat himself down on the steps, the plush carpet of them coarse against his palms as he rested himself. The fibres greeted him like old friends. How many times he must sat here as a teenager, singing, thinking, sulking. Waiting for Finn to come home from foot-ball so he could ask his older brother for "boy-advice". Waiting for Blaine to pick him up for dates.

Kurt felt a wave of nausea hit him. His stomach churned at the memory.

'Hey, Kurt.' Kurt looked up and caught the merging browns and blues of his fathers eyes. Like sandy denim. Burt was watching Kurt from under his cap, the age of which had turned its edges grey and pulled string. The red was so faded now. Burt leant on the banister, looking up at Kurt from the hall. 'You okay there, kid?'

'Yeah, Dad,' Kurt replied sweetly, giving his father a soft smile. Pushing himself up with what felt like immense difficulty, Kurt walked down the stairs and met his father at the end. Burt was still watching Kurt with lines of worried skin and troubled eyes. Kurt patted his father's cheek tenderly. 'You worry too much, Dad. It's not good for you.'

'Hey, I worry the appropiate amount,' Burt smiled, but his eyes continued to look dark in the shadow of his hat. Burt reached out and gave Kurts shoulder a tight squeeze. 'I just finished taking down those pixie-lights-'

'Fairy-lights, Dad. _Fairy-lights._'

'Eh, potato, potatoe. Anyway, I'm thinking of fixing myself up a sandwich, you want in?' Burt waved the interruption away like a fly and guided Kurt through the living-room to the kitchen. Kurt tried to shrug the weight of his father off, but Burt was too strong and he seemed to know that Kurt just wasn't able to fight anything today.

The afternoon light of Ohio was cool and yellow, far from the harsh metallics of New York. Even in the middle of winter, Ohio still had better sun. Kurt watched his father move through the room he used to know so well in a crease of flannel cotton and sun-dusted skin. Cutlery clinked and a plate scraped and Kurt felt like he was about to lose himself in the familiarity of home.

'Ta-da!' Burt exclaimed with a broad smile and soft eyes, placing a small plate with a sandwich cut into triangles on it, placing it before Kurt on the kitchens wooden island where it _clunked_ like a ship into harbour. Burt stood back and looked at the sandwich as though admiring a work of art. 'There you go. It's that weird, glooting-bread you always tell to me get and I went out the other day and bought you that French mayo you like so much.'

Kurt felt tears spring to his eyes. A breathy laugh escaped him before he could stop it and it accented with unshed tears and emotion. Burt caught the tremble and crossed his arms. 'Kurt?'

'Thank you, Dad,' Kurt said, meeting his father's gaze truly for the first time. It wasn't just for the trouble. It was for everything. For letting Kurt fall back into life in Ohio, despite showing up without warning. It was for keeping Kurts old play-bills on the shelf. For cutting the sandwich into triangles, just like Kurt's mother used to do when he was young. Burt read all the words and gave his son the usual lop-sided smile.

Kurt almost said he loved him.

'Don't mention it, kid,' Burt said softly, before turning around and retrieving his own sandwich, which spilled ham and certainly _not _French mayonaise. Kurt watched his father for a few moments before dropping his gaze to the crisp white of the gluten-free bread. He only then began to notice the ticking clock, counting the minutes like a teller in a bank counts notes. Waiting for Kurt to fall short and take everything. But Kurt just had nothing left to give. Kurt absently ran his fingers over his empty hand, tracing where his ring used to be.

'Kurt?' Blinking, Kurt looked up and saw Burt looking at him with a full cheek and sharp eyes. Kurt hated when Burt looked at him like that. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine, Dad. I guess I'm just not that hungry,' Kurt shrugged pathetically, moving away from the island towards the fridge.

Kurt could feel Burt watching every move he was making. With a patient breath out the nose, Kurt reached into the cold and withdrew the bottle, placing it on the table next to his mothers sandwiches. He retrieved a glass from the old cupboard and poured himself a full serving. Kurt caught Burt raising an eyebrow. Kurt tried to focus on the slightly oily, golden liquid of the Chardonnay. Not his favourite, but the local off-licence wasn't exactly couture. Eyes still sore and heart heavy Kurt took a long sip, audibly gulping as the alcohol hit his empty stomach with a stubborn kick. He felt his cheeks flush and throat catch.

'You seem mighty thirsty though,' Burt mumbled stonily. Kurt closed his eyes and drummed his fingers on the island, the glass held tightly in the other hand. The hand that desperately needed something to fill the space.

'It's been a long day.'

'It's just gone three, Kurt.'

'Fine, a long morning, then,' Kurt murmured into the wine, ignoring his fathers disapproving _sniff_. They remained silent for a long time. After Kurt went to pour himself a third glass, each one getting a little more full, Burt reached out and caught his sons wrist firmly, but gently. Kurt froze at the contact.

'Don't you think it's a bit early,' Burt said a deep tone that reminded Kurt of misdeeds in pre-school. Straightening himself up, Kurt twisted his hand out of his fathers grip. The wine sloshed in the bottle and _clinked _against the edge of the wine-glass. Like a bitter toast to no one. Kurt looked his father in the eye and hoped Burt didn't see how nervous he was.

'I'm an adult. I can drink whenever I like,' Kurt said haughtily and instantly regretting it in the way Burts face crumpled up like paper, words and age caught between the folds like dust. Burt sighed deeply and tucked his hands into his jean pockets, the fabric scratching in the silence of the kitchen. Kurt bit his lip and tasted the alcohol still fresh. His stomach twisted with the heavy liquid.

'What happened, Kurt?' Kurt looked away and focused on the way the kitchen light curved around the wines edge like a paint from a brush. Burt seemed to sense his sons avoidance. 'What could Blaine have done to do this to both of you, huh?'

Everything hurt.

Kurt almost cried at the statement. Releasing the bottle, Kurt held onto the edge of the island and felt like a man about to throw himself from a balcony. Throw himself to hard, cracked concrete below. He could hear Burts breathing next to him and it was deafening. Kurt tucked his teeth and twisted his tongue, but the words refused to go away. They sat like bricks in a wall. They tasted like dirt and apartment blocks.

'It wasn't Blaine,' Kurt whispered at last, the bricks falling in a the acrid breath of wine. Kurt heard Burt move beside him, but he still couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and look past anything but the dull, red dim of darkness.

'I don't really understand, Kurt,' Burt said, but the demand in his voice had vanished and leaving something slightly shaky and worrisome. Kurt hadn't even admitted anything yet and his father was already scared to know. The guilt twisted the knife in Kurts chest and an evil smile played across its lips.

'We had a fight. A terrible, _terrible _fight, Dad,' Kurt spoke to the heavy of the kitchen. One so different from the one that laid waiting for him ten and half hours away. Kurt felt the tears poke and prode with sharp fingers in the corners of his eyes. How could be crying already? Why did everything have to hurt so much? Burt said nothing, and Kurt took it as his cue to continue. 'I said some things... Things I really, really shouldn't have. And Blaine- God, Dad. He was so u-upset.'

The sob broke through the words like stones through glass. Burts hands moved to Kurts shoulders and dwarfed him. Kurt leant into his fathers warmth, the grief and guilt of everything pulling at Kurt like desperate soldiers, tearing him to pieces. Kurt felt something hot and wet curl down his cheek and jump from his nose as he tilted his head down in a choked sob. When would the crying just _stop?_

'What happened, Kurt?' Burt repeated sternly, clearing sensing something. The thing Kurt tried to hide to so well and now... Now Kurt was so close to saying it. So close but admitting was still so very far away. 'What did Blaine do, Kurt?'

He hit me, Dad. Hard. And I deserved it.

But Kurt couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't bring himself to say the words and hammer those final nails into what was burying the relationship Kurt had so foolishly taken for granted. But the bitterness and anger inside of Kurt rebelled against him. Blaine had hit him and Kurt wondered if he'd ever be able to think of the man he loved the same way. The anger and hurt was so big. But something so much heavier, and darker, and better, and stronger than the anger was settled in Kurts heart and it drove Kurt to throw himself into the firing range. Save Blaine from what would happen if Kurt were to explain the purpled concealer of his cheek.

After all, it wasn't like Kurt was completely innocent in all this. It wasn't like that fucking slap is what drove Blaine out the door.

'It was me, Dad.'

The words landed somewhere near the abadoned sandwiches and wine. Burts grip on Kurt slackened ever-so-slightly before returning, vice-like and determined. 'What do you mean, Kurt?'

'I did something terrible, Dad,' Kurt sobbed thickly, finally opening his eyes to the bright kitchen and his fathers face. Kurt felt the tears roll down his face like snow balls, cold and leaving prints. Burts eyes churned like paint and the colours swelled as Kurt leaned further into his fathers warmth. _Forgive me, Dad. Please. _

'Kurt, what happened?'

Kurt took a trembling breath through sobs and he collapsed into his own fingers, holding his face and being painfully reminded of the day Blaine had left him in December. Burt turned Kurt around to try and make him face him, but Kurt left himself behind bars made of fingers and nails. Burts soothing voice coaxed around the skin, trying to tempt Kurt out. Kurt was shaking in his fathers grip.

'I cheated on him, Dad. I cheated on Blaine.'

'Oh, God, Kurt,' Burt whimpered, pulling his son to him tightly, drowning Kurt in flannel and the smell of metal and oil. Kurt wrapped his arms around his fathers shoulders and cried desperately, needily into the cotton. He was so upset, and such a mess. The embrace reminded Kurt of letters and choir rooms, but this was so different to then. Burt patted his sons back roughly, his voice thick with emotion; 'Kurt, it's okay. It's okay.'

'No, no, Dad. It's n-not okay. I ruined everything,' Kurt choked, his throat sore and tight with wine and tears. Burt shushed him and pulled tighter. Kurt was so tired of feeling everyone else's heartbeats against him. He had enough weight to carry. But the burden had snapped and spilled all across the kitchen of an Ohio mechanic, who now stood clutching his son like he were a drowning man. Perhaps Kurt was. He was suffocating. It didn't have to be water to drown him.

'Don't say that, Kurt,' Burt said softly into Kurts shoulder. 'Please don't say that.'

'He's gone, Dad. He left me and he's not coming back,' Kurt said, the words strained and fading at the edges like shadows. The tears were drying and the familiar ache was beginning to settle in again. Another day to drag around the weight of it all. The lies, the games, the bruise.

Kurt remained in Burts arms long after the tears had stopped. Burt ran hands over his sons face and promised that he would be there for whatever happened next, and that Kurt didn't have to go back to New York if he didn't want to. Kurt bit his lip and his heart began to pound in an out-of-tune way as his grief for Blaine mis-stepped with his love for Burt.

This time, Kurt did say that he loved him. Burt smiled, and kissed Kurts forehead.

* * *

><p><em>If I should be some kind of fool-<br>_I would believe that your love was for real  
><em>Look now at what's left of our dreams.<br>_So sad, such a waste of time_  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so, so, sorry. Can you guys ever forgive me for this immensely late chapter? I really hope you haven't given up on me and this story. I adore it and really want to finish it and I truly intend on doing so.<strong>

**I am currently halfway through my final year at secondary school, (high-school for some of you). Which means I'll be sitting my Leaving Certificate Examination in June. It is the biggest exam of my life, trust me there. **

**Here in Ireland, each grade is worth a set amount of points. (A = 100 points, B= 85 etc.). My college course costs 440 points. Which means I've been studying my ass off and I've been in grinds, and extra classes for the last few months. So I will finish this story, but it had been very hard finding the time and I do hope you forgive me.**

**I'd also like to apologise to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. I'd like you to know that I read every single review and I am so sorry I couldn't reply to all of you. I promise not to let that happen again and I will do my absolute best to reply to every review given as always. (Assuming you guys are still interested in this story after so long).**

**Anyway, I really wanted to bring some Kurt and Burt love to the story. So this is an introduction as I plan to have Burt feature a bit more. But Kurt has to return to New York eventually, and it's not going to be pleasant for him.**

**My poor, Porcelain. **

**Again, I am so sorry, my darlings. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and forgive it's lateness. Thank you for all the support given, (and song suggestions!). I hope not to disappoint you again.  
>~ATGNT<strong>


	14. Don't Make It Harder Than It Already Is

**Well, "Goodbye" was sufficiently disappointing.**

**At least Rachel and Finn broke up. Just goes to show every cloud has a silver lining. **

**Further notes and apologies are below.**

* * *

><p><em>Stop that, now.<br>_Because you and I were never meant to be.  
><em>I think you better leave.<br>_It's not safe in here.  
><em>I feel a weakness coming on.<em>

* * *

><p>New York looked different.<p>

The heavy clouds had sunk and the icy sun had thawed, leaving drips of sunlight crawling around skyscrapers and corners. Kurt relaxed back into the seat of the taxi, watching as Brooklyn flew into view through sparse trees and red-bricks. The world was still tinted the strange grey that came with January, icy patches catching sunlight like fish in nets as they glazed over pavement. Winter was drawing to it's close now. February was close. Kurt turned his back on the cold months, stale and pregnant with the ghosts of all that had happened. The view of streets he had once walked as a promised man. He missed the scent of cut-grass and beer. The smell of Ohio. _Home_.

He let himself quirk his lips at the thought, tugging up like a bow on a present. Who ever thought he, Kurt Hummel, would miss Ohio?

Ohio, of all places.

The taxi turned up the familiar block and Kurt felt the heavy dread settle in his stomach, weighing him down into the seat. He pushed a stray hair back into his quoif when the corner of his building towered over the small Brooklyn street, a great, gleaming giant, threatening to swallow Kurt whole- a bitter pill. He leaned back, trying to seem smaller and hide from the neighbourhood trees, as though they were watching him, accusing him. Everything felt like a judgement. Kurt let out a shaky breath that was so full and dense it felt like another presence in the taxi with him. The shade of someone Kurt had to stop crying over.

It was getting ridiculous now.

But the hurt was just so bloody stubborn. And Blaine was so incredibly hard to forget. He was electric, and hard. A glinting bullet that had buried it's way into Kurt's skin, under muscle, into bone. Tearing his soul to pieces.

Kurt closed his eyes as his thoughts wandered to Blaine. He had to stop doing this to himself. Pasting memories up in his mind like childrens' paintings on fridges. It was easier in Ohio. The bed there had never known Kurt and Blaine together. It had not felt the difference. Kurt had. He could still remember reaching out in that murky place between sleep and dreams, reaching for the body that wasn't there. That terrible disappointment that ripped through him every time, tearing down the middle like paper, crippled edges- frayed, tattered.

He'd been KurtandBlaine for so long. Kurt didn't know how to even start being _Kurt _again.

Where was that boy? The one who dressed in Gaga wigs, sang_ Wicked _like a girl and picked fights with footballers? Certainly not with the man in the taxi. Certainly not close to the man who had nothing to show for all those years but empty fingers and an unfinished degree. Maybe Kurt had buried him too long ago. Blaine drifted through Kurt's head and he sighed miserably, closing his eyes the world of New York. The grief was so heavy and the love, (that terrible, uncontrollable love), was so wasteful. Tied across his chest in criss-crossing wires, a cage that wouldn't let his heart out.

All too soon, the taxi started coming to a slow halt. Kurt could feel the plastic and metal around him shudder, tired after it's long journey and hungry for it's tip. Kurt opened his eyes and stared resolutely ahead, refusing to let being back _here _scare him. He watched the back of the taxi-driver's head as he pulled out his wallet, (black, emblemed, _a gift- _he'd need a new one), retrieving the sufficient fund. He slid it through the window mutely. The driver gruffed dully at this less-than-warm gratitude, and did not offer to help Kurt with his suitcase as he bundled out of the car.

The sky was grey and full of lint-like clouds, framing the dark buildings and their melting snow in frazzled mist. The air of Brooklyn wrapped itself around Kurt like a lover, so beautifully familiar. But cold. Freezing cold and striking Kurt right to the bone. It was warmer in Ohio. This coat was too thin for such weather. But his winter one was still in the apartment, abandoned where Blaine had left it. Hopefully, Mercedes had moved it in the month or so Kurt had been gone. Slipping on the icy pavement, Kurt mumbled a quick "thank you" as he closed the car door.

Kurt pulled his suitcase onto the cerb and watched the taxi take-off. He took a deep breath and turned, so unwilling to even start...

Kurt froze.

The man was standing in the alcove, worriedly abusing the buzzer Kurt knew to be his. Irritation and shame flooded through Kurt in equal measure, both competing too eagerly. Kurt pushed the shame away, the wounds still too fresh and settled with the easier option. Anger was easy. (_If Blaine has taught me anything_, Kurt thought bitterly, _it's that_). Kurt straightened himself to his full height and adjusted his light, black coat. His high-boots _clumped _on the snowy concrete as he stormed up the steps towards the figure.

'What are you doing here?' There was no kindness in the question.

Jasper jumped and turned violently, falling back a bit into the glass doors, which rattled from the contact. Like expensive wind-chimes. Kurt folded his arms and tapped his foot, trying desperately to appear the very epitome of impatience. Jasper's eyes gleamed like grass, blinking in the watery sun and his hair was uncombed. Dressed in plain jeans and a brown hoodie, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Kurt flinched as his mind betrayed him, bringing him the images of a drunken dream and painful morning. Kurt didn't want Jasper here. He was like a part of a different picture. He did not fit correctly into this particular frame. This alcove was for someone else.

Kurt tried not to wince as Blaine's face flashed like lightning through him.

'Kurt!' Jasper cried, the name escaping him in a billowy breath that hung between them. A white balloon of sound. 'You're home!' The obvious delight that started to envelop across Jasper's face made Kurt's stomach roil with what felt like marbles. He could feel their cold glass and weight pound inside him as though falling down stairs.

It was terribly electric to see Jasper again. A horrible, cruel kind of energy that poured into Kurt like a stiff drink. Dry and bitter, but bringing such a glorious kind of intoxication. The hazy and not-altogether-there memories of sex drifted through Kurt's mind. Lumpy and clumsy, upsetting the current, but so dreadfully present. Kurt swallowed as he watched Jasper's arms flex and move, reaching out for him. Their ghosts moved across Kurt's shoulders, down his back, across his thigh... The recollection of something that should never have happened. Something he was punished for before he had even committed it.

Kurt's head throbbed. Guilt was a funny thing. With a quick determination, Kurt took the memories of Jasper and his bed and tied them up in string, casting them aside in favour of something much more satisfying.

The immediate irritation was quickly falling into a frighteningly more galvanic emotion. Anger was clawing it's way out of the water, pulling up to it's full height and threatening to overpower everything that was swelling in Kurt. Kurt was so blisteringly angry. How could Jasper think he could just show up here? At _their _home? After _what he did? _

Kurt threw Jasper what he hoped was a very dirty look. He reached down and grabbed his suitcase, shoving Jasper out of the way with a stern hand, making the effort to hit him with the case while he passed. The anger inside him purred, satisfied, at the resounding _oof _that Jasper emitted. Kurt held the suitcase a little behind him to try and create some space between himself and Jasper in the small alcove. Jasper was close, far too close and the intimacy was too much for Kurt. He fumbled with his key in the door. In the reflection of the glass, a blurry spectre of Jasper reached forward as Kurt swung the door open.

With a quick snap of the elbow, Kurt jerked the case out of Jasper's grip, pushing himself half in the door. 'I don't need help,' Kurt said scathingly, still caught in the volatile state between complete fury and devastating shame, lost in the free-fall. Tumbling, down, down, down...

Jaspers eyes were so beautifully green. Big and swaying like leaves, and Kurt's heart cried desperately for something earthy and the colour of soil. Something to bury himself in.

There was just _too much_. Kurt was just so angry and the terrifying blackness that was the cocktail of grief, guilt, shame and longing threatened to pull him down from the rafters, collapsing in on himself in a crumpled heap of flesh and bone.

'Kurt, please,' Jasper sighed in a placating tone that only served to irk Kurt further. Jasper had no right to stand there, _appeasing _Kurt like _he _was the one being unreasonable. Kurt turned haughtily and stormed away, into the gleaming white walls and black marble floor. A singular beacon of wealth in the Brooklyn suburb. Blaine always had such expensive taste. He listened for the satisfying _slap _that would come with the door closing behind him.

It didn't come.

The sound of Jasper catching the door and running to catch up with him almost pushed Kurt to the point of throwing the damn suitcase back at him. Kurt pointedly ignored Jasper, standing in front of the shining elevator and bouncing on the balls of his feet in vexation. Up, down. Up, down. His heart drumming the beat. It felt like being suffocated. Wrapped up and tied tightly in something skin-tight and hot. Choked. Kurt had never felt so uncomfortable, so furious, so _ashamed _in his life. He felt like the entire building, every brick, slab and door-knob was whispering behind his back. He just wanted Jasper to turn around, walk away and take the memories of the last few months with him. Pull them over his shoulders like a rucksack and walk out of Kurt's life.

Maybe, maybe then Kurt could learn to forget.

Jasper stepped up to stand next to Kurt, breathing heavily and hand out-stretched in a strange angle, as though he was going to take Kurt's hand. Kurt stuck it into his pocket in defiance, keeping the other tight on his suitcase. Kurt watched the dulled metal of the elevator try and recreate reflections, determined not to look at Jasper. The silence between them was gravid, but Jasper's low sigh broke through it suddenly as though it were made of nothing. Kurt turned his face a little more away, desperate to hide from the words.

'Kurt, you need to let me help you-'

'I don't need _help,' _Kurt spat the word as though it were poison. The sentence threw itself from his mouth with a feverish tongue. Swan dive down to the floor. 'I don't need you here. And I certainly don't want you here, so would you just be so kind as to go home and stay there?'

Jasper blinked, obviously hurt by the treatment. But Kurt didn't care, because frankly, what did the fool expect? They had made an agreement, one Jasper _swore _to uphold. Clearly, his words were as empty as the Blaine's. _Blaine._ Kurt closed his eyes, trying to block everything out. Barricade the doors, keeping all the Bad Thoughts out. Like Mom. But he could still hear them moving, tapping on the door, trying to tempt their way in...

'Look, Kurt, I know you're mad. _I know, _but I needed to come here and make sure you were okay,' Jasper implied in that honey-sweet voice Kurt had permitted too often. He had been too kind with Jasper, too loose. It was time to put the walls back up. Remind Jasper of his restrictions, of his barriers. Opening his eyes, Kurt forced himself to look at Jasper. Keeping his eyes narrow to convey his mood, Kurt watched Jasper take his hand back to his side.

_Good, _thought Kurt waspishly.

Curiosity poked it's head out from under all the stress and Kurt heard the question leave him as though someone else were asking; 'How did you even know I'd be home today?'

'I didn't,' Jasper answered, suddenly looking sheepish. His mossy eyes fell to the floor like leaves from a tree and Kurt chanced a look at the elevator counter. Two floors to go before it arrived. Moving back to Jasper, Kurt was suddenly struck by how young he looked, dwarfed in an oversized hoodie and teenage jeans. 'I've been calling here everyday. Your friend, the one who's minding the apartment, said you'd gone home for the holidays. But when you still weren't answering my calls, I decided I'd just chance my luck by stopping by.' He paused, the words apparently meaning more to himself than to Kurt.

'I've been calling everyday. I needed to make sure you were okay.'

Jasper raised his head and his mouth twitched- a crooked, slanting smile that Kurt knew only too well. Angled- like the side of stair-case. Clearly, Kurt was supposed to be impressed. Flattered that Jasper had gone through so much effort, so much time just to talk to him. And maybe, in another life, he would've been. But this was the life he was living. And this was the man who had taken him to bed, drunk, and screwed up everything. Kurt was far from flattered by Jasper's nosing.

That hevy guilt spoke out with a voice that sounded awfully like his mother's; _It's not just Jasper's fault. _

Kurt ignored the ghost.

'Well, as you can see, I'm in _perfect_ form,' Kurt retorted, each syllable dripping sarcasm and leaving puddles of meaness on the floor. Jasper threw Kurt that wounded look again just as the elevator dinged merrily. Kurt moved swiftly through the sliding doors, Jasper tight on his heels like some bizarre lap-dog. Kurt groaned loudly, frustrated. 'For God's sake, Jasper. Just _go._'

'No, I'm not leaving until you talk to me,' Jasper replied with a stubborn tone. 'You can't run away from me like you did everything else!'

'_Excuse me?_' Kurt bristled as the familiar words rolled over him, reminding him of a different voice. The elevator doors slid shut, locking him in with the man who's finger prints wound around Kurt like shackles. (God, would that hurt ever leave him?) Kurt dropped the suitcase where it made a dull _thump _of the flooring, turning to face Jasper head on and folding his arms across his chest in a defensive position. Their reflections mimicked them in the mirrored walls. 'I'm not running away from anything! I'm just putting an end to this-'

'No!' Jasper cut in, waving his hands in defiance and interrupting Kurt. Kurt seethed. 'I'm not going to let you just lock this away. You've been doing that for too long.'

Kurt faltered, his bitter retort withering on his tongue like a weed. That comment had hit a bit closer to the bone than it should've. Unwanted memories of nights spent alone and waiting for Blaine to come home, of sleeping with a foot of space between them in the bed pushed their way into Kurt's mind, blossoming like flowers. Slicing Kurt's life into neat, little sections of good and bad. And worse. _Bad Thoughts, _Mom's voice warned. _Kurt, keep them out_. When Kurt didn't say anything, Jasper continued, most likely assuming Kurt's reason for silence. Kurt mentally scolded himself for letting Jasper see how affected he was.

Jasper took a step forward, lowering his hands in a manner that clearly asked Kurt to step into them. Open palms, soft and asking like petals on a flower. Kurt stepped back and tightened his folded his arms, ignoring the invitation. Thankfully, Jasper saw the dissent and stopped where he was. Feeling considerably vulnerable and trapped, Kurt tried to put as much space between them. His back hit the handle that ran the length of the elevator wall as he reached down to retrieve his suitcase just to give himself something to do.

'Look, Kurt,' Jasper said slowly, as though if he spoke too loudly Kurt would break. Kurt felt something stir in him furiously. He was not a child, or some delicate doll in need of protecting. _Blaine had been the same_, Kurt suddenly realised. Treating him like he some prescious thing that would shatter if handled wrongly. Walking on egg-shells in arguments, talking over Kurt in public, escorting him everywhere with a firm hand on his back. Treating him like some _woman._

The thought made Kurt think of Mercedes, and all the trouble with men she had suffered and mentally scolded himself for thinking something so cruel. But the sentiment stuck like a stain.

Kurt did not need to pacified.

'I know you're hurting,' Jasper said with careful delivery, his brilliant eyes focused on Kurt with an intesity that made Kurt feel claustrophobic. Green walls too high to climb. _Out, _Kurt thought desperately. _I need to get out_. 'And I want you to know that I understand how difficult this is for you- don't pull that face, I really do.'

Kurt bit his lip to prevent it from curling. God, that habit was becoming even worse. Jasper shook his head, a smile brief across his lips like a shadow. When Kurt looked again, it was gone and Jasper was watching him once more.

'Look, we've all had our share of shit relationships,' Jasper said, suddenly sounding very tired. Kurt squirmed, uncomfortable and slightly guilty at the implication of the sentence. Jasper had to have existed before he blasted through his and Blaine's life like a cannonball, splintering it like it was nothing. 'But you can't let it ruin you like this, Kurt! For months, I've seen you bottle everything up. Ignore what was staring at you right in the face, ignore what it was you wanted in favour of letting that jerk of an ex-boyfriend push you around!'

'He's not...' Kurt started, immediately leaping to Blaine's defence, but just as quickly biting his tongue. Something twisted like splintered glass in his heart, uneven and so very sharp. Kurt swallowed heavily as Jasper's eyes hardened, before trying again with a delicate swallow. 'It wasn't like that.'

'No, I'm sure it was all romance behind closed doors,' Jasper bit back cruelly and Kurt felt the sting. 'You deserve better, Kurt.'

'It's not about what I deserve,' Kurt replied, turning his chin back to the door to watch the counter. Nine more floors to go, and counting. Jasper made an impatient noise from Kurt's side. Kurt sighed, frustrated. 'You don't understand- you can't possibly understand.' The words faded until they were nothing.

'Then explain it to me,' Jasper said, his words like sugar and melting so sweetly. Kurt closed his eyes, and wondered if he could just shut his ears like doors the way he could shut his eyes. Suddenly, there was a warmth. A hand, too big and thin to what Kurt's skin missed. Kurt almost whimpered, a lamentful, keening sound that dug itself up from the depths of his throat, delicately shrugging his arm out Jasper's grip. He turned to look at the man, his green eyes hard like stones. Jasper's mouth was down-turned. Like metal bent the wrong way.

Five floors.

'Kurt, please,' Jasper pleaded softly, voice low. The kind of low found in the space between pillows. Kurt felt tears bite at the corner of his eyes. Their teeth were sharp; he started to bleed salt. The hand returned, fingers burning with a heat that was only familiar in a way a nightmare could be. Jasper's fingers grazed his skin like paint to a canvas, catching the tears that crawled down Kurt's cheeks. Kurt wanted to pull away, wanted to keep the memory of Blaine's hands on his face intact, not ready to lose it to someone else yet. But Jasper was so warm, and Kurt was so, so cold.

'Let me help you,' Jasper said, hand moving to cup Kurt's face properly. His hand was too big, he could almost hold Kurt's entire face in the palm of it. It was the wrong size and the wrong fit and Blaine's ring would never fit on those fingers.

Kurt bit his lip as a sob tore itself out of him like the last page of a book.

Kurt leaned into the touch slightly, feeling his resolve starting to crack. Would it be so bad, he wondered desperately, to just let this happen? After all, Jasper loved him. This much was obvious. The truth of it was written in the touch of his skin and the tone of his voice, the way his other hand was reaching out tenatively for the suitcase like a tree-branch. Surely there was nothing wrong with wanting that? A man to love you? It was what anyone would want. Kurt tried to banish the thoughts of Blaine, and the colour of his eyes on a Tuesday morning and the scarf he wore to Pavaratti's funeral. Kurt's heart choked, the words getting stuck and suffocating it.

_I love him, _Kurt thought, Blaine's face so clear, and he had never wanted to cry more than then.

The _ding _of the elevator snapped Kurt from his thoughts. It was like the small noise and pulled Kurt the way a man would be pulled from drowning. He gasped and instantly flinched from Jasper's touch, the place where his hand had been singed like a burn. Kurt could feel the heat of it, stolen quickly by the cold air. It swallowed it up as though thirsty. Alarmed at his weakness, and still feeling the presence of temptation warm and sick in his mind, Kurt practically threw his suitcase into Jasper's arms, ignoring the other man's quizzical gaze. Kurt narrowed his eyes like blades, attempting to regain control.

'I'm giving you an hour,' Kurt said, the words ice. Jasper's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose as though on string. Kurt held up a hand as Jasper opened his mouth to speak. 'That's it. That's all I'm giving you. And any decision I make after that, you _have _to respect. If I tell you to get out, you get out. Got it?'

The last bit came out a bit harsher than Kurt really intended, but he couldn't help the small shiver of satisfaction he got from clearly catching Jasper unawares. He had regained his footing. Kurt moved out of the elevator, keeping his gaze determidely ahead of him, focusing on the door just down the corridor. He could hear the scrabble of Jasper behind him, and the faint rush of the doors closing. Kurt could also hear his heart pouding in his ears, a throbbing, aching drum. Warning of war. Kurt tried to control his breathing, feeling considerably less sure of himself as he approached their- his apartment, Jasper just on his heels like an old dog.

'And if you don't?' Jasper's voice came from behind, hanging like balloons in the air. Kurt paused, four feet from his front door. He turned and regarded Jasper fully, taking in the crumpled form of him. He reminded Kurt of a scrunched up ball of paper. The hope that flickered in his green eyes was like the candles that had burned in the church of his mother's funeral.

'Don't what?' Kurt asked hardly, not in the mood for games that he didn't control the pieces for. Jasper's smile twitched into place like a snapped nerve. Kurt found himself hating that smile.

'What if you don't tell me to get out?' he continued, the smile in his voice showing Kurt that he clearly felt this would be the outcome. Kurt almost scoffed at his naievity.

'Well, I guess that depends on what you say, isn't it?' Kurt said disdainfully, giving Jasper the same smile he used to give jerks back in high-school. One that was pointed at the ends were his teeth promised a fight. With that, Kurt turned and pulled the keys from his pocket, moving to open the door.

* * *

><p><em>Alright, then.<br>_Alright, then.  
><em>I can keep your number for a rainy day.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>A minior mental breakdown, seven exams, three months of work, two weeks of college offers and two months of university intergration and I have finally updated.<strong>

**You poor darlings. How on earth do you stand me? How do you manage to keep faith? I can't tell you how sorry I am. Real life did this rather annoying thing of getting in my way. Anyway...**

**This chapter was originally longer, but I felt it better to cut here and leave the rest stand on it's own. It proved immensely difficult, writing Kurt and Jasper interacting as such. Blaine had always been this pivotal point between them. Seems weird to have them like this, but that's how the story goes.**

**Anyway, what did you guys think? Some of you mentioned I used too many metaphors/similies in my previous chapters, so I toned it down in this one. Is it an improvement?**

**Also, as I'm Irish, _Glee _hasn't been released over here yet so I have not seen anything of season four! (I know!) But I have heard spoilers, so my following question is this, my prescious carrots;**

_**Which break-up was better? The official one on the show, or my one?**_


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